The Eyes Of The Beholder, Part Three
by loobeyloo
Summary: Dominic Santini and Alex Beecham must take Airwolf deep into Russian territory to bring back the man that they both love.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One.

_**Wednesday 11**__**th**__** July, 1984.**_

_**Russia – somewhere in Siberia – 2.15am **_

Uri Gregorovich chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek and watched Vladimir Sevchenko sitting behind his desk, fingers drumming absently on the highly polished wooden surface, and Dr Jorge Dimitriov leaning, in a rather defeated stance against a filing cabinet which stood against the far wall.

The Special Ops Captain had been summoned to the General's office fifteen minutes before and had been greeted by the hangdog expressions on the other two men's faces, and Sevchenko telling him that he had received word from their agent still based in Los Angeles ….

Reporting that the Hawke look-alike had not been seen since the previous weekend.

It wasn't the best news in the world, but he wasn't quite so inclined to jump to the conclusion that ….

What was that expression that the English were so fond of ….

Ah yes ….

_**The jig was up ….**_

That he had been discovered ….

There could be any number of reasons why the Hawke look-alike had dropped out of sight ….

Perhaps the Santini man had persuaded him to take a few days holiday ….

Perhaps he was sick ….

Back in the hospital to have some of the wires on his jaw released ….

It didn't automatically follow that he had given himself away ….

Although ….

The more he thought about it ….

The more he looked at the sour looks on Dimitriov's and Sevchenko's faces ….

The more Uri Gregorovich began to feel that the situation was much more serious than they were telling him.

Involving Moscow ….

_**Fools ….**_

Even as the thought crossed his mind, the telephone on Sevchenko's desk rang out shrill and the General reached out quickly, snatched up the receiver and barked into it.

Gregorovich watched the colour drain from Sevchenko's face and he knew that the situation was definitely much more serious than he had been advised.

The General remained silent, nodding intermittently in response to the loud, angry voice on the other end of the line and after a very brief conversation, replaced the telephone receiver and let out a long ragged sigh.

"That was General Alexei Putin …." He informed with a sour look. "He wants to see us …."

"Me too?" Dimitriov gulped. "He has no jurisdiction over me …." He blustered.

"Shut up, Comrade Doctor!" Sevchenko snarled, pinning the other man with a hard, cold glare. "He wants to see _**all**_ of us …. And believe me, it is not an invitation to a cocktail party or to share his box at the Bolshoi Ballet …." He sneered. "He wants to see all of us in his office as soon as possible …. We are to explain the reason for the failure of the American end of our mission …."

"We don't _**know**_ that he _**has**_ failed …." Gregorivich reminded impatiently.

"Archangel is still alive …. It is business as usual at the Firm's headquarters and we are no closer to gaining access to Airwolf …. Meanwhile, the look-alike has disappeared without a trace …."

"That means nothing …." Gregorovich protested.

"Putin just told me that the KGB have a double agent …. A mole …. Working deep inside the Firm …. How else do you think we got our information about the crew of that wretched helicopter in the first place …. Including your precious Stringfellow Hawke …" He spat the name viscously at the Special Ops Captain.

"The mole …." Sevchenko continued, a contemptuous look on his face now. "Reports that our _**look-alike**_ Hawke was …. eliminated …. _**Before**_ carrying out his mission to dispose of Archangel …."

"What did the Mole tell Moscow?" Dimitriov demanded. "Was the look-alike Hawke discovered because his programming …. Failed …."

"I don't know, the General was not prepared to go into that much detail …. He only indicated that the mole has a lowly position within Knightsbridge, but that in fulfilling his duties there, he had learned the fate of the look-alike." Sevchenko sighed heavily then.

"The General is, as you can imagine, Comrade Doctor, not very amused at this precise moment in time, and was not inclined to share anything more with me than he absolutely had too. His main interest was telling me that he expects the three of us in his office in the morning and we are to provide details as to how we can continue with this …. And use the real Hawke to gain the advantage over the Americans …."

"But surely they must know …. He must have told them …. He must have given himself away somehow!"

"You tell me how, Comrade Doctor …. He still had his jaw wired closed …. But, if you are asking if they know what his mission was …. We have to assume that they are intelligent enough to have worked it out …."

"And Archangel will shroud himself with even more protection …. We will never have another chance to get to him …."

"Oh God …. We are dead …." Dimitriov moaned and buried his head in his hands.

"Control yourself, Comrade Doctor …." Gregorovich sighed deeply, quickly grasping the implications of the situation. "While we still have the real Stringfellow Hawke …. We have a way to turn this around …."

"If you can ever get through his thick, stubborn, American head!" Sevchenko directed his anger toward the doctor now.

"That is _**not**_ my fault." Dimitriov lifted his ashen face from the folds of his arms and glared at Sevchenko. "I told you we were going too fast with the look-alike …. I warned you that you were all pinning too many hopes on this new and as yet unproven technique …." He berated. "And now you do the same with the real Hawke! He is stubborn and strong willed …. But …. It can't be much longer …." Dimitriov defended quickly. "It can't …." He concluded on what sounded to Sevchenko and Gregorovich more like a prayer than the decisive opinion of a man of science ….

"Especially since I made sure that you removed that busy body doctor, Petrova." Gregorovich interjected.

"She has nothing to do with this …. He is obviously much stronger and more determined to hold out than the other subjects we have used …. But he _**is**_ only human, and he _**will **_crack …. Eventually."

"Tell that to General Putin …." Sevchenko sighed. . "He has ordered a helicopter to collect us, ETA, 03.00 hours, so don't waste any time packing, gentlemen …. And might I suggest, we would be wise to spend the time spent travelling to Moscow in working out how we can use the real Stringfellow Hawke …." He rose stiffly from behind his desk then and ushered the other two men out of his office quickly. "We had better come up with something, and quickly …. Or else we could find ourselves in hot water …. Very _**deep**_ …. Very _**hot **_water …."

And that just had to be the biggest understatement of the century …. Gregorovich thought silently to himself as he followed the other two men out of the office ….

For he had a feeling that the good doctor had been closer to the truth in his prediction of their future ….

Maybe not today ….

Maybe not tomorrow ….

Maybe not even next week ….

But some where, some time …. In the not too distant future ….

They were all dead men.

_**Failure is not an option ….**_ Had been the main mission directive ….

And like it or not …. They _**had**_ failed ….

_**On both fronts ….**_

For it was his opinion that the Hawke man would rather die than succumb to their will ….

And if the Petrova woman was right …. That moment was not very far off ….

No excuses could alter the fact that they had indeed failed ….

And Moscow was not renown for being forgiving of those who let them down ….

From this moment on, they were marked men …. Living on borrowed time ….

Indeed he could hear the clock ticking away loudly, incessantly, unrelenting …. inside his head ….

And he suspected that they would be extremely fortunate if their helicopter made it to Moscow in one piece ….

_**Wednesday 11**__**th**__** July, 1984.**_

_**Russia – somewhere in Siberia – 6.20am **_

"All set?" Yana Petrova asked Mischa Ivanov, as they made ready to leave the small apartment over the garage for what they hoped would be the last time.

Her expression was serious and she was all businesslike now, keen to get on with the task they had been charged with.

He too was solemn and serious, keenly aware of the dangers that lay ahead.

Mischa had worked late into the night to prepare the documents that they would require, finally able to put to use his skills as a master forger, producing all the documents that they would need to make their plan go smoothly.

Yana too, had spent a restless night, her mind running through what she needed to do ….

And all the things that she had no control over ….

The things that could trip them up …..

That could go wrong ….

"All set." He confirmed.

He looked very dapper and smart in the uniform of a Sergeant that Yana had pilfered from the base's laundry the day before, just on the off chance that he would agree to her crazy plan, beard gone now and hair neatly cut and combed.

He cleaned up rather well, Yana thought to herself as she watched him check again that his weapons had ammunition and extra clips ….

Just in case.

No-one would ever recognise him as the hairy, rough and ready man she had been living with these past few weeks.

_**Perfect.**_

They were both nervous.

Tense.

Adrenalin rushing through their veins as they prepared to carry out their mission.

The plan was very simple, parts of which Yana had already hastily prepared ….

The idiot Russian Captain, Gregorovich, playing right into her hands by going to Dr Dimitriov, and demanding to have her taken off the usual rota for the cell block and having her moved, to split her day between the pharmacy and the mortuary.

However, there were still so many things that could go wrong ….

So much of what they had planned depended on luck ….

And on sheer nerve.

"Time check …." He pulled back the sleeve of his great coat and saw that it was six twenty three am. He called the time out to Yana.

"Check." She agreed looking at the luminous dial of her own watch.

"Ok then …. Let's go."

The look they shared spoke volumes, as did their soft, reassuring smiles.

Yana stepped out of the apartment without a backward glance, knowing that there was nothing here that she would miss ….

If everything went to plan and they did not return.

And ….

If things didn't go according to plan ….

They still would not be back here again.

They would either be dead ….

Or high-tailing it out of Russia as fast as they could.

Mischa picked up the duffel bag that he had stuffed full of their clothes and a few meagre dry supplies and threw it over his shoulder as he followed her down the back stairs and out into the night.

The jeep she had signed out of the base the day before was parked in the dark yard, packed already with the supplies that Yana would need, extra medical supplies and blankets, food and water rations and plenty of ammunition.

Yana slid into the driver's seat and waited while he stowed the last bag, and then climbed into the back of the jeep, pulling the canvas cover over his body before lying down on the floor as flat as he could get in the cramped space.

Yana started the jeep then and slowly and carefully pulled out of the garage's backyard and crawled through town in a low gear, aware of the stirrings in the houses and businesses that lined the narrow streets now, and knowing that no-one would find it strange to see her driving herself back to the base at this time in the morning.

Nothing out of the ordinary in that.

She had done it many times before.

Had made sure that she was seen …. So that it would not appear suspicious or raise the alarm ….

On the outskirts of the town she took the fork in the road that would take her back to the base and picked up speed on the open road.

The journey was uneventful, no other traffic on the road at this early time in the morning.

Her shift in the pharmacy was due to begin at seven am and as she planned to do nothing to draw attention to herself this day, just to follow her usual routine, she would head straight for the mess hall and a light breakfast with one of her colleagues, to try to catch up on any gossip ….

Suss out who was around ….

Who might cause her a problem ….

_**Especially Gregorovich ….**_

Where everyone was supposed to be throughout the day ….

Get the latest scuttlebutt ….

She would then go to the pharmacy to begin her day ….

Drawing out the doses of GKP for each prisoner, as prescribed by the more senior medics on the programme, and setting up the trolleys ready for the doctors or orderlies to collect and take to the cell block. Dull, routine, demeaning work for a doctor of her calibre, and her ego was still smarting ….

But, she had accepted that everything happens for a purpose ….

Even this unexpected demotion ….

As she took the turning that would lead directly to the base, Yana slowed down briefly and called softly over her shoulder.

"Almost there …. Hold your breath and keep your head down, lover …." She advised Mischa in the back of the jeep, and then picked up speed once more.

At the gatehouse, the guard on duty recognised her immediately, but he was a stickler for protocol and checked out her ID and gave the jeep a curious glance, noting the canvas cover over the back.

"What's in there …." He indicated with his weapon and she gave him a weary smile.

"Supplies for the hospital wing …. Medical stuff and blankets." She told him truthfully.

_**And a whole heap of trouble for you …. if you don't keep your nose out of things, sonny ….**_

"They were accidentally left behind when the last shipment came in, so I said I would collect them, as I had plans to go to town anyway …." She explained in bored tones, noting his smug smile as he realised that someone had messed up big time.

He sucked on a foul smelling cigarette and eyed her curiously as he shone his torch down onto her ID and then up into her face, then silently began to walk around the jeep, kicking at the tires and checking the tail lights.

Yana yawned and stretched in the driver's seat as she waited patiently and watched him pace around the outside of the vehicle for a moment or two, praying that he would take her at her word and that his curiosity would not lead him to lifting up the canvas and taking a look for himself ….

_**Please don't chose today to be clever or cocky … **_

_**Or ambitious …..**_

Fortunately, stuck out here in the cold harsh desolation that was Siberia, the gate guards were a lazy bunch, wanting to hurry back to their cramped little booths, to huddle over their inadequate electric heaters, and sip hot, thick, strong coffee or tea, not wanting to freeze to death in the Siberian winter wind and snow.

Just because it was now mid summer, the mercury struggling to climb much higher up the thermometer, up here in the Arctic Circle, old habits were hard to break, even when the temperature did turn a little milder.

They also had learned that it did not pay to keep the base personnel waiting in the cold any longer than was necessary either, as it often ended up getting them a stint on patrol around the perimeter at night ….

Satisfied that all was well he returned to the booth at last.

Yana smiled and waved at him with an air of boredom as he finally lifted the barrier at last and she was allowed to drive onto the base.

Yana carefully drove the jeep straight into the compound at the back of the main building, finding a spot close to the fence, in the darkest area she could find, and then as she slid out of the jeep, she whispered.

"See ya later, lover …. Don't be late …." And then, she casually walked away toward the main building.

After a few minutes of silence, Mischa carefully slipped back the canvas cover on the jeep and peered out into the still, dark morning. No-one around, no sign of the dogs that sometimes patrolled …. Although he could hear the occasional bark or whimper in the distance.

Too cold for them …. He smiled ruefully to himself.

He slid out of the jeep, and clinging to the shadows, made his way to the hiding place that Yana had briefed him about, making himself as comfortable as he could in the shadows of the cramped garbage storage area, to watch and wait.

Inside the main building, Yana Petrova went through the usual routine of signing in, collecting her white coat and security badge from the duty officer and storing her coat and handbag in her locker, before heading to the mess hall, where she met her colleague, Sasha Sukova, a young blonde nurse who worked in the infirmary, and had little or nothing to do with the work being carried out in the cell block ….

Which, naturally, meant that she was privy to all kinds of information that she should not have.

Orderlies and nurses were terrible gossips and the only people they could unload on were the people who were not involved in the work they had to witness day in and day out.

Sasha was nursing a cup of hot tea and a slice of bread smeared with honey as Yana joined her and spent a few minutes listening to her go on about how Dr Dimitriov had once again tried to corner her and make a pass.

Yana smiled.

Her brushes with the Captain, Gregorovich, had made it easy for her to relate to the younger woman's woes in fighting off the senior doctor and had made her an instant friend to the younger woman.

Sasha had nothing new to tell her about the events of the evening since she had gone off duty, nothing new about the prisoners that was, but revealed that all had been quiet during the night, until Gregorovich, Dimitriov and Sevchenko had received orders summoning them to Moscow and had left in a flurry of activity and angry barked out orders ….

A helicopter coming to collect them no less …. Waking all the patients in the middle of the night with the noise ….

Good ….

_**Good ….**_

Things could not have worked out better ….

All the major obstacles removed from their path.

The timing was perfect ….

Or ….

Maybe it was just a little _**too**_ perfect …. Yana mused silently to herself as she sipped at a cup of hot tea.

The cynic in her could not help thinking ….

Of course, Yana knew that no-one could possibly know what was planned for today, but she found it rather too much of a coincidence that all the senior brass would be off the base ….

Mysteriously summoned to Moscow ….

Of course, it wasn't unheard of ….

After all, it appeared that all the hard work being carried out here had yet to bear results ….

Perhaps Moscow had summoned them to account for the lack of progress ….

Still, she was naturally suspicious, and she could not help feeling just a little uncomfortable and unnerved by the news ….

_**Were they compromised?**_

_**Were they walking into a trap?**_

Did the Russians have someone on the inside that the Firm didn't know about …. Someone who could have learned of the plan …. And given them away?

It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility ….

After all, she and Mischa had been operating, independently, inside the USSR for years without being detected ….

Both of them as Russian as the natives themselves …. Or so it seemed ….

It was too late to worry about that now.

She and Mischa had agreed on a plan, and she had to stick to her end of it.

Yana bid her young friend a genuinely warm farewell as they parted outside the mess hall, and then made her way through the narrow, twisting maze of corridors to the pharmacy, where she unlocked the filing cabinet and drug cupboard and began to set out the items needed for that morning's round of testing, checking each file for the notes written up by the attending physician the previous day and drawing out the dose of GKP that was prescribed for each subject ….

Except Prisoner Z.

She scanned his file more closely, needing to know as much about his physical and mental condition as possible, especially today, noting with a sinking heart, that even with the short break from the treatment, which had resumed the day before, with as much vigour and carelessness as usual, there had been further serious deterioration in his physical condition.

It didn't look good at all ….

_**Damn ….**_

She and Mischa had obviously made the right decision ….

_**No more time to waste**_

_**Let's just hope that that lucky streak of his holds …. Just for a little longer …..**_

She pulled out a small vial of clear liquid from her skirt pocket and, unwrapping it from the flimsy tissue that had been its only protection in the folds of her skirt, substituted it for the vial of GKP, which she wrapped up in the crumpled tissue and slid back into her pocket ….

Perfect.

A sample that she could send back to the States to have analysed ….

She then filled a syringe with the required dose of the substitute ….

And hoped, as she did so, that the American guy would one day understand her actions.

_**Needs must ….**_

At a little before eight am, the orderlies and medical staff, yawning and stretching and rubbing tired eyes began to arrive at the pharmacy to sign out the trolleys assigned to their subject.

Nobody smiled.

Nobody made a joke.

They all looked thoroughly tired and miserable, joyless and without hope, as they collected their assigned trolley and signed for it before leaving to begin the day's thankless, monotonous work.

She watched with feigned boredom as the doctor assigned to Patient Z flicked through his file and checked the syringe to make sure that the drug dosage had been drawn correctly.

She was not offended or insulted.

He was just being thorough ….

Which would reflect more on _**him**_ in the hours to come, than on her ….

She could not have made a mistake, because he had checked it ….

And would no doubt double check it again before he administered the drug ….

Therefore the mistake could not have been hers ….

And the spectre of suspicion would turn away from her ….

Leaving her free to finish what had to be done without the fear of being under surveillance or being detained while an investigation was carried out ….

It was nothing less than Yana had expected, Boris was a thorough man, always making sure that even the smallest detail was correct ….

She moved around the pharmacy, showing little interest, but regarding him covertly through her lashes, nonetheless, gauging his reaction. However, he showed not the slightest concern or hint of suspicion, and she smiled wearily at him as with a tired shrug, the man wheeled the trolley out of the pharmacy and began his brief journey to the cell block.

Yana let out a soft, silent sigh of relief ….

And so it began ….

_**Russia – Somewhere in Siberia.**_

_**Main cell block – 8.10am**_

Dr Boris Kuznetsov strummed his cold, numb fingers impatiently against the handle of his trolley as he waited for a particularly large and slovenly looking guard to open up the cell ….

The cold and damp which permeated the concrete walls around them and seeped into their bones and numbed their brains, he knew, made everyone slower and more lethargic, but the slovenliness was due more to the fact that the top brass had been called away from the base, and there would be no-one higher ranked than perhaps a Lieutenant, to supervise today's session, and to pull him up about his appearance ….

At last the man had the door open and Kuznetsov wheeled the trolley carefully inside the cold, damp empty concrete cell where he again checked that everything that he needed had been laid out on the sterile cloth or inside the stainless steel kidney dishes provided.

While he waited for the orderlies to bring Prisoner Z to the cell, and for the rest of the team to arrive, Boris quickly scanned through the most recent notes scribbled on the flimsy pages inside the manila file, which had been replaced on the bottom tray of the trolley, and a frown knitted his brow.

The prisoner had been written up for a hefty dose of GKP, which, he noted again, had already been prepared for him by his colleague, Petrova, in the pharmacy, and as usual, the half empty vial had been left in the kidney dish, beside the full syringe, just in case orders were changed by the Senior medic at the last minute, or he needed a 'top up' during the session.

The team had invested a lot of time and effort in working with this particular subject, but seemingly all for nought ….

This one was extremely strong willed.

Stubborn.

Still trying to fight against the drug and the absolutely deplorable treatment at the hand of his captors ….

However, the most recent notes indicated that he was weakening physically ….

That the last attending physician, Yana Petrova, he noted with some surprise, backed up by Dimitriov, had recommended that he be given a break from the procedure so that he could regain some of his physical strength.

_**Ah …. **_

_**So that was why Petrova had been exiled to the pharmacy ….**_

_**Lucky Yana …. **_

_**At least today she would be spared the screams …. **_

_**And the sight of the hideously inhuman treatment dished out by the men carrying out the treatments.**_

So, surely it was only a matter of time ….

Perhaps there would be some kind of break through today ….

Boris Kuznetsov liked that idea ….

He liked the notion that if the team succeeded today, some of their glory might be reflected back on him too ….

Which in turn, could result in a promotion out of this wretched place ….

From out in the corridor he could hear the unmistakeable sound of boot clad feet pounding on the solid concrete floor, announcing the arrival of his patient ….

Prisoner Z.

No doubt closely followed by the other prisoners due to be treated today.

Four sets of heavy foot steps pounded toward the cell …. Two orderlies and their two man armed escort ….

And stopped abruptly outside the cell door, as they waited for the same clumsy guard to open the door.

A few minutes later, a bedraggled, barefoot man, hence the reason why Boris had only been able to distinguish four sets of footfalls, was hauled roughly into the room and quickly forced down into the chair, strapped in speedily, restraints pulled so tight, Boris suspected that they must surely be cutting off his circulation at wrists and ankles.

Upon closer inspection, Boris noted that Prisoner Z was semi conscious …. Barely aware of his surroundings, and the other people in the room.

He had received his usual dose of GKP, despite the fact that he had been allowed a rest day from the procedure to recover a little strength.

He had been given clean clothes, but, it had been noted on his file, he had become very aggressive and physical when the orderlies had tried to help him into the clean fatigues, and was now sporting a freshly bruised right cheek, to go with the bruising on his chin, which had been inflicted after a previous session.

He had been given food, and, it was also noted, he had eaten it gratefully …. However, it had also been noted by the nursing staff, that the food had apparently not agreed with him ….

And he had spent most of the day and half the night being violently sick.

And then the treatment had resumed yesterday ….

Further weakening him physically ….

No wonder he still looked awful ….

Any benefit he might have gained from his brief respite from the procedure undermined by his physical deterioration.

His inability to tolerate food was also a bad sign ….

It was an indication, perhaps, that his body was shutting down.

Boris Kuznetsov took up his stethoscope and began his preliminary examination of Prisoner Z, who moaned and groaned intermittently, head lolling uncontrollably from side to side, eyes, pupils dilated and unfocused, rolling up into the back of his head.

The patient, he noted, had a slight temperature, but nothing to worry about, and certainly nothing that would prevent Boris from administering the required amount of GKP.

Pulse and blood pressure were also within acceptable ranges, and it was with huge relief that he would soon be out of these oppressive surroundings and back in his less severe office, that Boris took up the filled syringe of GKP and quickly slipped the hypodermic needle into the vein in the back of Prisoner Z's already bruised right hand, noting that the veins were practically compromised and that they would have to begin introducing the drug somewhere else if he did not succumb soon ….

No problem ….

There were plenty of other veins they could use ….

"All yours …." He told the guard on the door as he stored his equipment back on the trolley and began to wheel it towards the door, hoping to make a speedy exit, just as the rest of the team who were due to work on Prisoner Z today, arrived to pick up where they had left off after the last session.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two.

Stringfellow Hawke felt wretched.

His stomach was still tying its self in knots and he felt so hot ….

The room was spinning violently in front of his eyes, objects and the people who seemed to be crowding into the room ….

Swimming in and out of focus.

_**Man what a wild trip …. **_He thought to himself incoherently.

The pretty red headed doctor had probably thought that she was doing him a favour by demanding that he be given a break from the procedure ….

At least he had guessed that it was her doing, after his little charade the other day ….

But, in reality, for him, the last twenty four hours ….

_**No wait …. **_

Was it only twenty four hours ….

Hell, he didn't know ….

Time had little meaning here ….

The time he had spent locked in that cold, dark, silent cell had been the hardest part of this whole horrible nightmare.

They had continued to pump him full of their poison for one thing ….

Clouding his mind and his ability to determine reality from the hallucinations ….

Waking dreams ….

More like nightmares ….

Worse than anything he had ever experienced after Vietnam ….

And, left to his own devices, Hawke had been plagued by memories that he simply could not shake off ….

Dom ….

St John ….

_**Alex ….**_

All jumbled and mixed up with a psychedelic hotch potch of Vietnamese Jungle terrain, California Desert and Eagle Lake ….

Tet had been in the mix too ….

Huge, monstrous head and snapping, salivating jaws coming straight for his face ….

At one point he had woken up screaming, convinced that he was drowning ….

And he had been unable to quell the tears and heart wrenching sobs ….

Tears and sobs of a twelve year old boy who had survived the tragic boating accident that had claimed his parent's lives ….

And he had sat huddled in a dark corner of the cell, clutching his knees into his chest, watching the ghosts from his past as they sauntered through his muddled brain demanding to know why he was still alive when they were dead ….

_**Way to go, Red ….**_

_**Thanks for the memories ….**_

At some point someone had brought him food too ….

Hot food ….

For the first time in weeks ….

And in the darkness, starved beyond endurance, he had been unable to resist, despite his deep distrust and suspicion ….

He had eaten it all down.

Not tasting any of it ….

Grateful to feel some warmth in his fingers as he scooped the food up into his mouth ….

Not caring any more ….

Reasoning that they had no need to poison the food when they were poisoning his system every day with that stuff they were forcing into his blood stream ….

He needed to put something other than the meagre rations of bread and water and cold oatmeal, that they had been providing for the past few weeks, into his stomach ….

Needed to keep up his strength somehow ….

And, unaware, or just plain uncaring, until it was too late, that it contained chunks of stewed beef …. Meat of some kind, maybe even dog or horse, for all he knew ….

He had been violently sick, head hung over the bare porcelain toilet bowl for the rest of the day and following night as his body purged its self of the allergen.

_**Gee Alex …. You had to ask ….**_

_**I guess you have your answer now ….**_

_**It appears that I am still allergic to meat ….**_

He had thought miserably to himself and then smiled wryly as another cramp had sent him scurrying across the cell to lean over the toilet bowl once more, heaving out his stomach, and his heart, despite the fact that there could not possibly be anything left in his digestive system.

How ironic that an allergy that he had believed was well under control all these years should undermine all his hard work in fighting the drugs and the beatings, the cold and the damp and the isolation ….

He felt like hell.

Bastards had not been able to resist putting the boot in one last time as they had roughly forced his cold, stiff limbs into the clean fatigues ….

Every part of him ached.

Was on fire with pain and discomfort.

He couldn't stop shaking.

Teeth chattering, uncontrollably.

In truth, he felt as if his whole body was trembling uncontrollably.

He was beginning to think that his body was shutting down …

Dying ….

Bit by bit ….

Failing him ….

More importantly ….

His mental grip was finally beginning to slip.

He was losing it.

Losing touch with reality.

He doubted that he could hold out much longer.

Maybe today would finally be the day ….

They had come for him, early, yesterday, as he had known that they would and the whole whacky merry-go-round had begun again ….

He had heard the guys in 'Nam, the ones who had experimented with recreational drugs, talking about weird trips ….

Bad trips ….

This was a trip to hell …. No doubt about it ….

And now he was here again ….

More of that God awful stuff going into the back of his hand ….

They were relentless ….

Remorseless ….

Determined.

And he could see no end to it ….

Unless of course, he cracked ….

Or he died ….

He had done his best …. But it was just too damned difficult to fight anymore ….

Wouldn't it be easier just to slip away into the darkness ….

_**No ….**_

_**He had to hold on ….**_

_**Have faith ….**_

His friends and colleagues back home in the States would not forsake him …. Someone would realise that something was not quite right with the man who was acting out his life ….

_**They had to ….**_

He could feel the sharp prick of the hypodermic needle as it pierced the delicate skin on the back of his hand ….

Feel the drug stinging as it entered his blood stream ….

Cold ….

Ice cold, yet burning, as it moved rapidly up his arm ….

Shoulder ….

Neck ….

Closer to his brain …. his heart ….

Then he realised that something was different this time.

He had become used to the swiftness with which the drug clouded his brain and dulled his senses ….

But that wasn't happening this time.

Maybe they had given him just a little too much this time ….

For now he could feel a totally different sensation ….

His chest muscles contracting, tightening like clenched fists ….

Suddenly it was hard to draw in precious air ….

Like breathing in water ….

The air suddenly too thick to move in and out of his burning lungs ….

And now there was pain too.

That had never happened before ….

At least not until they had started beating the hell out of him ….

Flesh connecting with flesh ….

That kind of pain he was used to …. Could tolerate ….

But this ….

This was like no other pain he had ever experienced ….

Now the pain was travelling, from his left forearm, rapidly up toward his shoulder, then radiating out into his chest, rib cage and up his neck and into his jaw.

His teeth were clenched, jaw locked against the intense pain as he gasped for breath.

He felt like his chest was encased in tight, iron bands, a vice squeezing his rib cage and forcing the air out of his lungs ….

He gasped noisily, trying desperately to drag in air.

And in one final moment of unusual clarity and lucidity, Stringfellow Hawke suddenly knew with unshakeable certainty what was happening to him.

He was having a heart attack ….

_**Oh God ….**_

_**This was it ….**_

_**He was going to die ….**_

_**But dammit, he wasn't ready ….**_

_**So much left to do ….**_

_**So much more to say to all the people that he loved ….**_

_**Oh God no …. Not now ….**_

_**Not now …**_

_**Alex ….**_

"Hey, doctor!"

Boris Kuznetsov had barely made it to the corner at the end of the corridor when he heard the commotion coming from inside the cell he had just exited.

"You …. Yes _**you**_ …. Get back here …. _**Now**_!" A uniformed man, a Lieutenant bellowed from the doorway, a horrified expression on his handsome young face.

Boris rushed back up the corridor toward the cell, leaving his trolley unsupervised in the corridor, for one of the orderlies to return to the pharmacy ….

Inside, he was appalled to find the prisoner in the grips of what looked like a classic cardiac arrest, face pale, almost bloodless, gasping for breath and hunched over in the chair, lips blue, eyes wide and panic stricken, as though he was very much aware of what was happening to him ….

And very much afraid that these were his final moments in this world ….

"Get help, now!" Boris ordered brusquely, marching over to the chair and tugging impatiently at the restraints. "And tell them to bring the crash cart …. Now, dammit! Don't just stand there …. _**Move!**_"

Struggling with the strong buckles and restraints, Boris quickly got the prisoner out of the chair and flat on his back on the floor.

As he was moved, Hawke, still gasping for breath clutched instinctively at his chest and left arm, curling in on himself and rolling over onto his side, to absorb the pain as the room grew darker and he could feel himself slipping away ….

"Hurry up, dammit …. We're losing him!" Kuznetsov shouted, grabbing the prisoner's wrist to take his pulse. "Where the hell are they …." He cursed, unable to feel a pulse in the wrist and so roughly man handled the man back over on to his back and eagerly sought out a pulse in his neck ….

Nothing ….

Immediately he set about doing chest compressions, tipping the prisoner's head back and pinching his nose as he sealed his lips tightly around the insensate man's and inflated his lungs twice, before continuing with the chest compressions and checking again for a pulse.

Still nothing ….

_**Oh God …**_

_**He was gone …**_

_**He couldn't be gone …. **_

_**Not this quickly …..**_

_**C'mon …. C'mon …. **_

_**Fight man, fight ….**_

He silently implored, although he already knew that it was too late.

The man's body had just been too weak ….

Weeks of short food and water rations, sleep deprivation, the drugs and the beatings ….

He had nothing left to fight with ….

However, Boris continued to work on the prisoner until the other medics with the cardiac resuscitation equipment arrived and began to shock him with electricity.

The team worked passionately and with dedication on Prisoner Z for much longer than they would normally ….

But it was useless.

He was gone.

Boris Kuznetsov finally and reluctantly pronounced him dead at a little before nine thirty, and the whole resuscitation team stood around staring at each other in shock and confusion.

_**How could this have happened ….**_

_**Someone would have some explaining to do ….**_

Poor guy ….

As everyone in the room began to pull themselves together and realised that they would be required to account for their actions and give statements about what they had seen and heard here this morning, Dr Boris Kuznetsov reached down and closed the young man's unseeing eyes, then took off his white lab coat and covered the body as he requested that two orderlies be summoned to remove it to the mortuary, where it would lie in refrigerated storage, waiting for Dr Dimitriov's return ….

No doubt he would want to order a post mortem examination, to determine what exactly had caused this young man's death ….

Perhaps it would help them to define the limits to which they should be going with the procedure and the drug dosages ….

At least then his death would not have been in vain ….

Senseless ….

The orderlies duly arrived, taking their time as they spread out a black, heavy plastic, zippered body bag and carefully placed Prisoner Z's corpse inside it, before lifting it up onto a wheeled gurney and guiding it out of the cell, accompanied by Boris Kuznetsov, who would be required to fill in the appropriate paperwork and the death certificate once they reached the mortuary.

Boris's heart was heavy ….

Not so long ago he had been dreaming of reflected glory, when the team succeeded in cracking their star subject ….

Now he would forever be known as the man who had not been able to save that same star subject ….

He had better get his story straight …. He realised.

Because, he knew that someone was going to have to pay for this sudden development ….

And he had a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, that that _**someone**_ was likely to be _**him **_….

Whether he was actually responsible or not ….

Yana Petrova filled her time after everyone had left, tidying the pharmacy and making out supply lists for various drugs and equipment, trying not to keep glancing at her watch as she waited for the trolleys to be returned, so that she could confiscate the vial she had left on Prisoner Z's trolley, and replace it with a used vial of GKP that she had 'acquired' a few days before and hidden, for just that purpose ….

The trolley was the last to be returned, by a rather disgruntled orderly who had found it abandoned in the corridor at the end of the main cell block and he had grouched to her for fifteen minutes about the lazy, slovenly people he was forced to work with ….

She barely listened to a word of his diatribe ….

Waiting for the commotion that would surely set the medical staff in a tailspin, to kick off ….

Yana told herself sternly to stop being ridiculous ….

She was too far away, here, from the cell block to hear anything ….

And she was the last person that they would summon for assistance in a medical emergency involving _**that**_ particular patient ….

She would just have to wait ….

And see ….

_**Patience ….**_

_**All would soon be revealed ….**_

At eleven o'clock she went to the mess hall for tea and a snack as she had not eaten anything when she had arrived that morning, and found Sasha and several other nurses huddled together at the same table, heads together, talking in low voices.

She greeted them all with a pleasant smile and a hearty sigh as she sat down with them, but immediately noticed their glum faces.

"What's up?" It was easy to see from their shocked expressions that something had occurred.

Yana felt her heart rate increase.

From the looks on their faces ….

It was something serious ….

"You mean you haven't heard?" Sasha asked incredulously.

"Heard what? I've been stuck on my own in the pharmacy filling out forms for most of the morning …." Yana let out another heavy sigh. "So? What did I miss?" She scratched absently at her ear and regarded Sasha with open curiosity. "Did one of the dogs get loose again …."

"One of the subjects had a heart attack …." Sasha whispered, leaning in a little closer to Yana.

"Prisoner Z …." This came from another nurse whose name Yana did not know. However, she was not surprised that the young woman knew about the prisoners and what was happening to them over there in the cell block.

The base was a hotbed of gossip ….

Just like its counterparts all over the world ….

Like any other place where several hundred curious human beings were thrown together day in and day out ….

People talked.

They couldn't help it, and so long as it did not leave the base …. There was little or no harm in it ….

Prisoner Z had been one subject that all the ladies had been lamenting over since his arrival ….

_**He was so young. **_

_**So pretty. **_

_**It was such a shame what they were doing to him …. **_

_**He was so brave …. **_

_**Fighting against the drugs …. **_

Yana had heard all the whispers and murmurs around the mess hall, the ladies room and the locker room over the past few weeks and had known that she would quickly get to hear about what had happened to him ….

And know that the plan had worked …. without drawing any attention to herself.

"He's dead …." Sasha said, a catch in her voice and tears suddenly swimming in her eyes.

"What?" Yana exclaimed with what seemed like genuine surprise.

"Da …. Poor man …."

"Heart attack?"

"Da…. Gone …. just like that …." Sasha snapped her fingers and blinked away her tears.

"I guess that means that you will be busy this afternoon …." One of the others regarded Yana with undisguised relief, referring to the fact that she would be reporting to the mortuary to begin her shift there after lunch.

"Great …." Yana sighed deeply, forcing herself to breathe slowly and remain calm.

_**They were in business ….**_

_**All she had to do was stay calm ….**_

_**Act naturally ….**_

_**Do her job ….**_

"I know I wanted a little company …." She shuddered showing the group her distaste at the idea of having to share her workspace with another corpse.

"You looked after him, didn't you?"

"Once or twice …. when it was my turn …." Yana confirmed. "I tried to tell them that he was not strong enough …." She let her voice trail away then and gave a non chalont shrug of her shoulders. "Why should anybody take any notice of what I had to say?"

Several heads nodded in unison.

"So what do you think will happen now?"

"I should say that there will be a lot of fuss over nothing …. And eventually somebody will end up paying the price for their incompetence …. But at least it won't be any of us …."

Again the others all nodded in agreement.

"I shouldn't be surprised if we don't see the General rush back from Moscow because of this. He is not going to be very happy …."

"That's an understatement, Sasha …." Yana chuckled. "He'll probably turn blue with rage …. The audacity of the man, for dying on us like that …."

"But his death won't stop them, will it? It won't stop the programme, will it?"

Yana wasn't sure if the young woman was relieved or disappointed.

"No Sasha, I don't think it will …."

"Why do they have to be so cruel …."

"Because if it were the other way around, the Americans would be just as brutal and unforgiving …. To get what they wanted."

"But he hadn't done anything …." Sasha protested.

"You have no idea what he might have done …. He might have been a spy …. He could have killed many of our comrade brothers to discover our secrets and take them back to America …. Just because he was young and pretty doesn't mean that he was a good man …." Yana told her sagely and the others all nodded in agreement.

"He must be very important …." One of the others spoke out. "He is the only American here …. The others are all British or European or …." She hesitated for a moment, looking around to see who might be listening, before continuing. "Traitors to the Motherland …."

"And now he has died a hero …." Sasha sighed wistfully, raising a smile from those closest to her around the table.

She did have a tendency to over romanticize everything ….

But she was still so young and idealistic.

They could all still remember the time when they had been that way inclined themselves, in the days before the long, grinding tedium of day to day existence and poverty had begun to wear them down.

"At least that will be of some comfort to his family …."

"_**If**_ they ever discover what _**really**_ happened to him …." Someone else pointed out, and at that moment they all grew quiet, suddenly spotting the senior nurse bearing down on their table, a heavy set grey haired woman, stomping toward them with a purposeful stride and a sour expression on her face and then she drew to a sudden stop and leaned in to whisper into Yana's ear.

"They need you in the mortuary right away, Dr Petrova …."

"Very well …." Yana pushed her cooling tea away from her and rose gracefully from the table. "Then I had better not keep them waiting …."

"No doctor …. Better not." The senior nurse agreed. "Tempers are not at their best I am afraid …." She sighed heavily and Yana nodded her thanks to the woman for the warning.

Yana walked casually out of the mess hall, throwing her colleagues a weak smile over her shoulder as she did so, and then hastily made her way to the mortuary.

_**On to stage two ….**_

Mischa Ivanov found it easy to blend in with his surroundings as he joined the rest of the day shift in the mess hall for breakfast, grateful for the chance to stretch his cold, aching limbs.

The base was used to visiting personnel from other bases, such was army life, always new faces coming and going, and no-one had challenged his right to be there or questioned him about what he was doing. Merely saluting him and going about their business as usual, bored and huddled up against the biting wind inside their winter coats, uncaring of who he was and what he wanted so long as he didn't bother them ….

He had emerged from his hiding spot for a quick reconnaissance of the base, at first light and had spent the time constructively, snooping around the motor pool on the other side of the compound, sourcing a vehicle …..

He knew exactly what he wanted and spent a long time looking for a truck that looked sound and was mechanically up to the long trip ahead ….

Listening to the gossip amongst the mechanics, who were chugging on huge mugs of steaming tea and smoking as they prepared for the day's work ….

Their discussions all about the convoy that was leaving later that morning to collect supplies from the storage depot, in a town a days' drive away. Day dreaming about the treats and luxury items that might find their way onto the base along with routine things like cigarettes, toilet tissue and toothpaste ….

It sounded too good to be true ….

But Mischa could not have been more relieved.

As part of the convoy he would draw even less attention to himself than his present plan ….

To simply make up a story about taking the fixed truck for a test drive to make sure that the repairs were sound ….

Even more pleased with his quick thinking when he overheard that they were going to be short one of their usual drivers due to sudden ill health and that they would probably be assigned a new face ….

Thinking that perhaps Yana was right and that their compatriot had more than the luck of the Irish on his side ….

After partaking of tea and bread and honey in the mess hall, a quick glance at his watch told Mischa that time was moving on, and so he followed a group of chattering young men as they made their way to the motor pool to collect their vehicles ….

Their duties this day, the routine convoy to collect supplies from the nearest depot.

All was quiet.

Just another normal, dull, routine day.

Good.

Anything out of the ordinary might have alerted him to the fact that something had gone wrong with their plan …

That perhaps Yana had been caught ….

But all remained quiet.

Still.

He had to assume that everything was going according to schedule.

It was time to make his move.

He was the last to join the queue to collect the keys to his vehicle, reciting the number to the Lieutenant on duty and pocketing the keys quickly as he walked casually through the pool to where the truck was parked, then waited while the convoy lined up and made their way through the compound toward the main gate, where they were waved through by a different guard from the one who had greeted Yana Petrova, earlier that morning.

He followed the convoy, driving carefully, not wanting to attract attention to himself, until at last, as they were approaching a crossroads, he flashed his headlights at the truck in front and after a few minutes the other driver realised that something was wrong and pulled off the road.

Mischa stopped his truck behind the other one and got slowly and casually out of the cab and trudged to where the other truck had pulled up, and told the driver that he was having mechanical problems, with the brakes, and that he was going to have to try to fix it on the roadside before attempting to either carry on to the depot, or limp back to the base, and would his comrade brother inform the officer in charge at the depot of his intentions if he was late or did not arrive.

Shrugging, showing not the slightest hint of suspicion, the man had nodded and wished Mischa luck, obviously relieved that it wasn't him, stuck out in the middle of nowhere with an ailing vehicle, and then he drove off, leaving Mischa alone on the deserted road.

After twenty minutes of sitting in his cold cab, Mischa Ivanov started the truck and pulled back onto the road, taking the exit at the crossroads that would lead him to the main road, which in turn, would take him directly to the nearest railhead, where he would meet with one Lieutenant Olav Grodsky and escort him back to the base.

When she arrived at the mortuary, Yana Petrova was greeted by the sight of the zippered body bag lying on a gurney just inside the sterile, tiled examination room and Dr Boris Kuznetsov, shuffling from one foot to the other, nervously, as he watched as the young Lieutenant who had been supervising this prisoner's session, paced up and down angrily, demanding answers that no-one could give him.

A shiver ran down her spine, which had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature in the room and she let out a deep sigh.

Yana glanced over at Boris and he interpreted her questioning glance correctly and shrugged.

"What took you so long!" The young Lieutenant snapped as he saw her standing in the doorway at last.

"I came as quickly as I could, Comrade …. I knew nothing of this, until a few moments ago …. I have been in the Pharmacy all morning …. What do you want me to do?"

"Find out what killed him!"

"Are you asking me to perform a post mortem examination?" She arched her eyebrow quizzically.

Of course she was adequately trained to do such a job, but she had been counting on the fact that they would want to hold off on that procedure until Jorge Dimitriov could be there to supervise it.

"Comrade, Lieutenant Zorkin …." Boris Kuznetsov spoke up then. "I do not believe that that would be very wise …. I am sure that the General and Dr Dimitriov would wish to be here to witness that procedure."

"As do I." Yana concurred. "However, if you order it …." Her voice trailed away then, leaving the young man in no doubt that she would do as he ordered, but under duress.

Leaving him to face the wrath of the General and the Senior medic upon their return.

"Very well …." The young man looked painfully uncomfortable and out of his depth, and somehow relieved to acquiesce to their greater knowledge and experience. "How should we proceed?"

"Well, there are papers …." Boris pulled a sour face. Reams of paperwork to be filled in and duplicated and corroborated …. "And of course, someone else must confirm life extinct …." He looked over at Yana, who gave him an uncomfortable look, then nodded and entered the tiled examination room and picked up the file which had been placed on top of the body bag ….

Noting the designation ….

Prisoner Z.

"Ah …. " She withdrew from the room quickly and both men frowned at her sudden return. "I do not believe that it should be me, Comrade …. I was forbidden to have anything further to do with this patient …."

"I give you authority …." The Lieutenant snapped. "Just get on with it. The sooner you do it the sooner we can get him out of sight …."

"Very well ….. But I would prefer it if you would witness what I do …. For both our sakes …." She advised solemnly.

Yana returned to the tiled room, the young Lieutenant, looking pale and nervous, following close behind her, their footsteps echoing off the grey/white tiled walls, joining the constant dripping of water into a stainless steel sink on the other side of the room.

With cold but steady fingers she pulled back the zipper on the top of the heavy black plastic body bag and slowly peeled back the plastic to reveal the pale, bluish face of the American prisoner.

Relief flooding through her that it really was him and that they hadn't changed Boris's assigned case at the last minute ….

The one detail she had dreaded, yet could have no control over ….

Her worst nightmare ….

Opening up the body bag and finding the wrong man inside ….

But it was going to be all right ….

It was the right man ….

And again, fleetingly, she could not help hoping that he would be able to find it in his heart to forgive her for what she had had to do to him ….

She could only imagine what it must have been like ….

The pain ….

The confusion ….

The panic ….

The fear ….

At least he looked peaceful …. she could not help thinking to herself.

His face relaxed, if pale and his lips cyanotic blue ….

So young ….

Eyes closed ….

A coin placed over each eye to keep the eyelids closed ….

Someone adhering to a very old superstition …. Money to pay the ferryman to carry his spirit over the river to wherever was to be his final destination ….

Yana suddenly felt the urge to brush a lock of his fine baby soft hair from his brow, but mindful of the young man standing rigidly beside her, watching her every move, instead, she placed her fingers against his neck, searching for a carotid pulse ….

And as anticipated, she found none.

She reached inside to take his wrist but again found nothing.

She put the back of her hand up close against his nose and mouth to be certain that he was not breathing, and felt nothing.

She took her stethoscope out of her lab coat pocket and peeling back more of the body bag, slid the metal end under his fatigue jacket and searched his chest for signs of a heart beat ….

There were no signs of life at all ….

No breath sounds ….

No heart beat sounds ….

_**If she didn't know better ….**_

_**She would believe that he really was dead ….**_

Instead of his body being in a kind of stasis ….

His metabolism slowed down so much that he was barely alive ….

His systems shutting down to a crawl ….

Allowing him to hover in that limbo between life and death.

Giving a very realistic appearance of death ….

Even to the most practiced eye.

Getting him into the refrigerator quickly would help to maintain that state, until she and Mischa could get him the hell out of there ….

And miles away ….

Then, and only then, could she revive him.

Silently, Yana was very impressed.

It was the first time that she had used this particular drug, and although in theory she had known what to expect, in practice sometimes these things proved to be less than perfect.

For all intents and purposes, he really was dead.

The drug inducing a deep coma ….

Slowing the body right down ….

Not unlike the effects of hypothermia, which kept the body alive until the restoration of heat and fluids and the special antidote she had taped to her waist under clothes, and of course Atropine and Adrenalin, to kick start his heart ….

_**In theory.**_

And, if all those things failed …. electric shock to the cardiac muscle ….

But as this poor guy had had enough electricity shot through him in recent days to illuminate the city of Chicago, Yana was secretly hoping that that would not prove necessary ….

Especially as she did not plan to steal a resuscitation unit and hook it up to the battery in the truck ….

Slipping her stethoscope loosely around her neck, Yana tidied his clothing around his chest and zipped up the body bag once more, then reached for his file and signed her name beside Boris Kuznetsov's, countersigning to certify that the man who had been known simply as Prisoner Z was indeed dead, and then added the date and the time in the required boxes.

"He _**is**_ dead?" The Lieutenant regarded her hopefully, his expression conveying his desperation for her to declare that there had been a terrible mistake and that the man was still alive, barely, and if they acted quickly, he could be saved ….

"No doubt about it, Comrade Lieutenant …." Yana sighed softly as she returned to the small office with the prisoner's file in her hand, and as he followed her, she could not mistake the look of utter desolation that crossed his face ….

Then like the well trained machine that he was, he squared his shoulders, stood up straight and drew in a deep, calming breath.

"Very well …. Get it out of sight …." He barked out the order now.

Yana immediately noted the change in his attitude.

There was no longer a man …. but an offensive object ….

_**Oh callow youth ….**_

"I can do nothing more here …." He continued gruffly. "I will be in the General's office if you should need me …. His Aide Commander Borofsky is trying to contact the General in Moscow …." His voice trailed away again and he suddenly looked very young and very unhappy.

"You will both be required to make out a report …. Each of you have had some interaction with this prisoner today, so make your reports as detailed as you can." Then he marched out of the office, leaving Yana and Boris to share exasperated looks.

"What does he think we might need him for?" Boris asked cynically. "That fellow is beyond needing any more help from us …."

"He's young, Boris …. Probably never had to deal with anything like this before …. You and I …. We are used to death …. But the young, when they cannot bear to face the thought of their own mortality, find it difficult to come to terms with their first encounter with another's death …. Even a stranger …." Yana Petrova spoke softly. "We should get him into the refrigerator …." She indicated with her thumb to the tiled examination room and the body lying on the gurney. "What happened, Boris?"

"I don't know …. I checked him over and apart from a little fever, he was fine. I gave him the stuff and then left, as I normally do …." He drew in a ragged breath then.

"I hadn't even got to the end of the corridor when they were calling for me …. Heart attack …. Classic symptoms …. And it was over so quickly …." He let the breath out in a deep sigh. "Still …. It wasn't like they weren't warned about his physical deterioration …. I read your notes …." She nodded. "He could not have gone on for much longer …."

"No .…" She agreed. "Do you mind giving me a hand to move him?"

"Of course not, Yana …."

"Boris …. I am sure that you did nothing wrong …." She laid a gentle hand against his forearm as he moved to walk past her into the tiled room beyond the office.

"What does it matter …. They will need to find someone to blame …. Just be thankful that you were pulled off the duty rota when you were …. Or it could just as easily have been you …." Then he brushed past her and took one end of the gurney while he waited for her to take the other end.

They worked together to get the heavy, sturdy black plastic body bag into the open refrigerator drawer, and then Yana made out a label to place on the front of the drawer so that he would not be confused with the other body already in the bottom drawer, a young man who was the victim of an accident out on the shooting range, two days before and whose body was waiting to be shipped back to his distraught family in Leningrad.

She then made sure that the door was secured and the temperature was set correctly, and made sure that she kept a hold of his file, as Boris returned to the office and began hunting through the filing cabinet to find the paperwork he needed.

She watched Boris with impatience as he rifled through the files, messing up her new neat filing system, unable to locate what he wanted, then gently moved him out of her way and began to pull out various pieces of paper and handed them to him.

"It will be all right, Boris …." She tried to reassure, but it did not change his forlorn expression. "I am sure that you did everything that you could for him …."

"Tell it to Prisoner Z …." He sighed deeply. "It won't bring him back …."

"Then perhaps he has gone to a better place …. If you believe in such things, Boris …. Whatever you believe, at least his suffering is over …."

"And ours is just beginning, Yana …. Look, I know you drew up the drugs this morning …. I think you should be aware that they could try to make you a scapegoat too …."

"But Boris, I saw you checking the syringe this morning, and you signed to say that all was correct …. If _**I **_had made a mistake, _**you**_ would have noticed it then …." She pointed out, keeping her tone neutral.

"I know …. I know …. But I am just saying …. No-one is safe from the finger of blame in this matter …. Someone must surely pay for what has happened …."

"If he was so damned important to everyone around here, why didn't they take better care of him!" She allowed her temper to flare briefly, and then lowered her gaze demurely in apology. "I understand what you are saying, Boris …. Thank you …."

"Why are we here, Yana? We are both better than this …. We deserve better than this …. We are compassionate doctors, healers not monsters …. Killers …."

"We go where we are assigned …. It does not pay to question things, or to try to fight against them. We fulfil a purpose, Boris, that is all …. Would you like some help with the paperwork?" She offered benignly.

"Thank you, but no …. Better do it myself …. Don't want anyone to say that we put our heads together and conspired to cover up the truth …."

"He is dead, Boris. There is no other truth. Most likely the GKP finally did for him what the cold, starvation and beatings could not …. He is free now."

"And left us in a whole heap of trouble …."

"It will pass, Boris …. There is still much work to be done here …. We are needed …. Others higher up the chain will suffer the consequences for this, not the likes of us …. We are just small cogs in a much larger machine …. They need us to keep the machine going." She reassured.

"I wonder who he was …." Boris mused thoughtfully, chewing on the end of his pen now. "He must have been quite important …. After all, they worked harder on him than any of the others …."

"The likes of you and I do not have need for such information to do our jobs, Boris …." She chided gently. "Perhaps that is for the best …. The less we do know, the better for us in the long run."

"But he must have had a name …. A family …."

"I suppose …." She reluctantly agreed, not wanting to appear too interested.

"It's not the way I would want to go …." He grimaced. "Poor sod will probably end up in a ditch in the woods somewhere …. No proper grave …. No one to stand over him and say nice things about him …."

"I am sure he knew the risks."

"Perhaps …. I hope Dimitriov returns quickly …. We need to know the exact cause of death, and how the drugs affect the subjects …. Maybe his death will assist us in the future …. So that no-one else has to die …."

Boris Kuznetsov lowered his eyes to the documents that he was required to fill in as he sat in stunned silence at her desk for a little while, finding some comfort in her calm movements as she carried on with her work as normal, and then, finally, after heaving a hearty sigh, he took his leave, making for the mess hall where he would try to eat a late, meagre lunch, collect his thoughts, and make out his report on the incident.

Yana Petrova glanced nervously at her wristwatch and noted the time.

Mischa would be arriving soon ….

If things had gone according to plan ….

If he had not been discovered ….

They were almost there …..

_**Almost ….**_

Time to get moving with the next step of her plan.

After checking with the admin office who was on duty, Yana reached out to the telephone on her desk and dialled a familiar extension number, asking to speak to the gate guard, whom she knew was required to eat his lunch, such as it was, at his post every day.

"Comrade Dubcek, Dr Petrova here …. No doubt you are aware that a VIP from Moscow will be arriving shortly to escort the unfortunate young man who was killed on the rifle range a few days ago, back to the loving arms of his family."

"Of course …." Although the man, obviously talking through a mouthful of food, sounded a little unsure, despite the fact that Yana knew that base protocol required the administrative staff to inform him of the impending arrival of the VIP from Moscow, and allow him to pass unhindered.

"When he arrives, would you be so kind as to ring me in the mortuary, so that I can make sure that everything is ready …. It would not do to keep him waiting, after all he has had a long journey to get here, and nothing to look forward to but the same scenery to watch on the road back …."

"As you wish, Comrade Dr Petrova."

"Thank you, Comrade Dubcek, I will let you know when they are ready to leave." Setting the telephone receiver down gently, Yana let out a soft sigh of relief ….

Grateful that he had seen nothing untoward or suspicious in her request ….

The simplest plans, she and Mischa had agreed, were always the ones that worked best ….

No-one would find it in the least suspicious that someone from Moscow had been despatched to return the dead hero's remains to his family. A political officer usually did the job, thus ensuring that no awkward questions were asked, and the family were left in no doubt that their son died a hero's death, in the service of his country …. And would, therefore, not feel inclined to pursue the true cause of his death.

As it was the truth, it would be easy for someone to verify who he was, perhaps even assuming that Mischa had travelled with him as his escort….

She and Mischa would have just enough time to dispose of the Lieutenant from Moscow ….

Neither of them liked the idea of having to kill him, but again, it was a necessary evil …. They would then secure him in the passenger seat, and then Yana would supervise the removal of the body from the refrigerator and its transfer to the back of the truck ….

And then, hopefully, Mischa would simply drive away ….

Once he was off base, Mischa would drive directly to the rendezvous point in the woods and wait for Yana to finish her shift …. at five o'clock …. Her new assignment in the pharmacy and mortuary at least offering her better working hours …. And no more grave yard shifts ….

And then their long journey would begin.

Under cover of darkness ….

They would simply slip into the shadows ….

Heading East to the coast, to the prearranged co-ordinates of the pick up point that Control had organised …. Roughly fifty kilometres outside of Magadan.

And so would begin her hard work with the American man ….

And she found herself praying that everything would be all right.

It would be such a pity after all their hard work ….

With freedom so close ….

If she could not revive him from the drug induced coma ….

Or if his strength and determination of will failed him ….

And he slipped away.

At five minutes after two, Yana received a call from Dubcek announcing the arrival of the truck with the Lieutenant from Moscow aboard, and a few minutes later she became aware of someone walking down the narrow corridor toward her office, the sound of two distinctive sets of heavy footfalls echoing off the bare concrete walls.

She looked up from the paperwork she had been trying to immerse herself in for almost half an hour, to find Mischa Ivanov standing behind Lieutenant Olav Grodsky, in the doorway of her office, tall and straight, stern faced and standing to attention, as he slid his hand inside his great coat and produced a sheaf of paper which he waved at her.

She did not smile at him, did not show any hint of recognition, as they had agreed. She rose from her desk and took the paperwork from him as he stepped around the Lieutenant, his orders to remove the body of Private Nikolai Baranov, beautifully forged with much care and attention by him, in the small hours of the night, and read it quickly.

"Come in …. Sorry I cannot offer you tea, Lieutenant, Sergeant …. but we are not allowed to keep food or drink in here …. I will call an orderly to help you transfer Private Baranov's remains to your vehicle …."

Lieutenant Grodsky moved confidently into the tiled examination area where the refrigerated drawer containing the American prisoner was located and indicated to the top drawer labelled with Private Baranov's name …. Which Yana had switched with the real Private Baranov who was still housed in the bottom drawer.

"Everything is in order, Comrade …." Yana offered, nervous that he might ask to look at the body. "And I have his personal affects bagged all ready for you to take away …."

"Very good, Comrade Doctor …."

Without a sound, Mischa Ivanov came up behind the Lieutenant and quickly, efficiently and noiselessly broke his neck, the young man sagging toward the cold tiled floor with a startled expression on his handsome young face as he gasped his last breath.

"What took you so long …." Yana sighed softly.

"You had everything under control …." Mischa grinned then, dropping the Lieutenant's corpse to the ground and breathing hard as he straightened up again. "We'd better hurry up and get him back into the truck before someone comes …."

"We?" She arched an eyebrow at him but he continued to smile.

"Alright, _**I **_had better hurry up and get him into the truck …. I am sure that you have things to do too …." She nodded gently, then, on impulse, she reached up on tiptoe and pressed a soft kiss to his smooth cheek.

"I take it everything went to plan?"

"Arrogant ass just took everything I said for granted …. Pompous young puppy …. This was probably the most important task he had ever been given …. He never questioned me and only cast a cursory glance at the paperwork …."

"Pity …. After all your hard work too …. Hurry now, it won't be long before the afternoon shift will be coming back from lunch …."

Mischa bent carefully and lifted the corpse that had once been Lieutenant Olav Grodsky up onto his shoulder in a typical fireman's lift, and with Yana going ahead of him to keep lookout, made his way out to the truck, which was parked in the mortuary loading bay and stuffed the Lieutenant into the passenger seat and strapped him in with the seatbelt, while Yana returned to the mortuary to make the necessary phone call to the Administrator to request help with transferring the remains to the truck and prepare the necessary paperwork.

Mischa remained with the truck for a moment or two, lighting up a cigarette and puffing on it hungrily, before pushing it between the dead Lieutenant's lips and lighting up one for himself, leaning against the front wheel arch and sucking in the foul smelling smoke with relish, just in case any curious passers-by should try to speak to the Lieutenant, however, all was quiet and after a couple of minutes he discarded the burned down ends of both of the cigarette and returned to the mortuary to help Yana.

She opened up the top drawer quickly and beckoned Mischa to help her pull out the runner containing the body bag, and her heart sank when she saw the startled look on his face, as the rigid body encased in heavy black plastic moved slowly out of the drawer.

Together they took the body bag and manoeuvred it on to a gurney ready for the orderlies who would soon be arriving, so that all they had to do was wheel it out to the truck and then lift it into the back.

After much hefting and heaving they finally had the bag securely on the gurney, and Yana pulled down the zip fastener to reveal the placid, pale, slightly blue face of the America man, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mischa flinch, as she pulled the zipper down a little more so that she could lay the file with his medical notes down on to the insensate man's chest. She would need it for their journey, to make note of what treatments, drugs, etc, she administered, and then the doctors at the American end would need it to study, to understand more about what had been done to him.

She also carefully slipped the half used vial of GKP, wrapped in tissue paper into the top pocket of the fatigue jacket …. Thus ensuring, that she would not be caught with it on her person should she have to suffer the routine humiliation of a body search, before being allowed to leave the base at the end of her shift.

Yana hastily closed the zipper, leaving just a small opening at the top to allow air to seep in, without a word.

"Geez Yana …. I know you said it would _**look**_ pretty damned realistic …." Mischa grumbled, shuffling uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Are you sure he isn't _**really**_ dead?"

"As sure as I can be …." She assured.

"He looked pretty damned dead to me!"

"That's the point, Mischa …."

"Dammit, Yana …. Is he going to be all right in the back there for three hours? He won't suffocate will he …."

"He's not staying in the body bag for three hours, dolt, you will be getting him out of there and tucked up on the bunk in the back of the truck as soon as you get to the clearing. Don't over wrap him with bedding …. I don't want you to warm him up too quickly …."

"Yana …."

"Do as I say, Mischa …. Trust me …."

"I don't see that I have any other choice …." He grumbled.

"If you do as I say, everything will be just fine." She placated. "He should remain unconscious until I get there …."

However, he didn't look convinced.

"It'll be all right, Mischa …. Don't freak out on me now …."

"I'm not …." He snapped then, his expression showing her how hurt he was that she thought that he was losing his nerve.

"Look …. The drug won't wear off, it doesn't work like that …. I have to give him the antidote …. And other drugs to revive him, to counteract its effects, so there is absolutely no need for you to panic …." She reassured gently. "Ok?"

"Ok …."

"It will be just like he's sleeping …."

"Ok …."

"Mischa, I'm sorry …." She reached out for his hand then and smiled softly at him before letting it go again. Time was moving on and they could not afford to waste a moment. They were not out of the woods just yet. "Ready?"

"Ready." He agreed with a dubious look on his face.

"Ok …. I already called for the orderlies …. So it shouldn't take them a minute to get here …."

On impulse then, Yana Petrova suddenly rose on tip toes and pressed another soft kiss to his smooth cheek.

"Be careful, Mischa …. And if I'm not there by five thirty, don't wait for me …. Get away …. And be safe …. Both of you …. I can take care of myself, and if I can, I will find a way to join you later …."

"You'd better …. I'm no doctor, Yana …. I can't take care of him on my own."

"Hopefully you won't have to." She assured. "Didn't I just tell you that the drug won't wear off …."

"So what happens to him if you don't make it to the rendezvous? Will he remain in this condition indefinitely, or will he …." His voice trailed away then and Yana wished that she had a better answer for him.

"I really don't know …. Nothing about that in the user manual …." She smiled apologetically. "I never used this stuff before, Mischa …. All I know is that to counteract the drug, I have to administer the special antidote and then Atropine and Adrenalin and IV fluids, warm him up slowly, and wait for his metabolism to come back up to speed. If I'm not there to revive him …. I can't be sure, but maybe he will come around of his own accord …. Or maybe he won't come around at all …. You'll just have to wait and see …."

"For God's sake, Yana …."

"Mischa, I'm not planning on getting caught …. We've come this far, with luck and Fate on our side, and I have no reason to believe that anything will change …. But if it looks as if it's all gone to hell, then drive …. drive like the very devil himself is on your tail, and get him to the pick up point …. Let our guys worry about whether he will survive or not, let them do what needs to be done to revive him …. Your job is to just get him there …." She told him sternly.

"Nothing is going to go wrong, but around here, you just never know …. They could suddenly decide to run a drill …. Air raid, missile attack, anything …. I just want you to be prepared, just in case they decide to lock down the base and I can't get away tonight …."

He knew that she was right.

They had talked it all through, over and over.

What would happen if things didn't go quite according to plan.

For Mischa, the consequences were not quite so drastic ….

If he was discovered by the visiting Lieutenant from Moscow …. He could simply kill the man and make a run for it ….

Leaving Yana to have to deal with the insensate American and try to get him out of the base on her own ….

But for Yana, as with the rest of the mission, the consequences were dire

If the switch was discovered before Yana got off shift ….

If that happened ….

All hell would break loose ….

She would naturally fall under suspicion and if she could not get away before they sent someone to question her ….

It would be all over for Yana Petrova.

Going into this thing they were both aware of the risks, of all the things that could go wrong with their plan, including that one or the other of them might not make it to the rendezvous ….

Under those circumstances, they had each agreed that they would do the best that they could for the American man and try to get him out of the country safely ….

"You'd better get back to the truck, wouldn't want anyone to get suspicious about our friend the Lieutenant …." Yana prompted now, not wanting to dwell too deeply on the downside of their mission.

She had absolute faith in Mischa.

If she did not make it to the rendezvous, he would deal with the situation as best he could and fulfil their objective, of delivering the American man safely and in one piece to the pick up point.

"Be careful …."

"Most assuredly, my friend …." She smiled confidently at him then.

Mischa smiled softly back at her, reaching out to gently touch her soft cheek. Yana briefly lifted her hand and rested it on top of his, smiling warmly at him, then she dropped her hand, and after lingering briefly, his fingers caressing her soft skin, Mischa dropped his hand too and turned on his heel and marched back down the corridor and out of the loading bay door, to await the arrival of the orderlies with the gurney.

The orderlies arrived at the mortuary shortly afterward and busied themselves with taking the gurney out to the truck and hefting the remains in the body bag up into the back while Mischa supervised, leaning against the side of the truck, sucking on another cigarette and going through the paperwork that Yana handed to him as the orderlies made ready to wheel the now empty gurney back to the mortuary.

Yana did not wait outside to see the truck off, returning instead to her office, heart racing in her chest, hands, sweaty and shaking slightly.

She sat down at her desk with a heavy sigh and cradled her head in her hands just for a moment, offering up a silent prayer, to which ever deity might be listening at that moment, that all would continue to go well for them and that Mischa and his precious cargo would make it out of the compound without suspicion or hindrance.

After a moment to draw in a calming breath and to compose herself once more, Yana reached out for the telephone and rang the gate guard to advise him that the truck carrying Lieutenant Grodsky was ready to leave and that everything was fine.

Mischa Ivanov did not hesitate as he climbed up into the cab of his truck, started the engine and engaged the clutch, pulling away from the loading bay without a second glance, heaving a heavy sigh of relief when he reached the wire fenced exit, as the gate guard lifted the barrier and waved him through without stopping him to check his papers.

As soon as he was clear of the base and out of sight of the gate guard, Mischa put his foot down on the gas and made for the rendezvous point, praying that Yana Petrova would be able to join him as planned at the appointed time, and that nothing would go wrong before she was able to leave.

_**Russia – somewhere in Siberia – 6.15pm**_

Yana Petrova regarded the rather bedraggled looking American man, as he lay stretched out on the make shift bunk that Mischa had prepared in the back of the truck. His face was still relaxed and peaceful, as if in slumber, apart from the slightly grey colour of his skin and the blueness of his lips.

After Mischa had left the base, Yana had tried to keep to her usual work routine and not give herself away to her colleagues, but it had been with more than a little relief that she had signed out, collected her belongings from her locker and headed for the jeep, at precisely five minutes after five, holding her breath until the gate guard waved her through with a cheery smile, and not breathing properly again until she was a good few kilometres on her way to the rendezvous with Mischa.

His relief had been obvious when he had spotted the jeep on the lonely wooded road, where he had parked to wait for her, a quick glance at his watch telling him that she was right on time, precisely five thirty. He had greeted her with a warm embrace and a gentle kiss on her lips and then, grinning like idiots they had embraced each other once more, before Mischa had unloaded their things from the jeep and stowed them in the back of the truck with the insensate American.

The first thing that Yana had done was check on their compatriot, finding that he was neatly tucked up in the make shift bunk, Mischa having somehow managed to get him into a pair of his oversized flannel pyjamas too and she quickly set about taking his observations.

There was no change in his condition.

Still no sign of heartbeat, pulse or respiration, his temperature was still low and he had no detectable blood pressure reading either ….

She had quickly set about finding all the equipment and drugs she would need to revive him ….

Untaping the small vial of antidote from around her waist, carefully placing it in a kidney dish, safely out of harms way …. It was the only vial she had …. His one and only shot …. She couldn't afford to drop it or contaminate it in any way ….

She then found out the medical kit she had put together and took out Atropine and Adrenalin, the drugs she would also need to get his heart speeded up again and IV fluids to replace the fluids that he had lost through lack of food and water, and in more recent days, the vomiting he had suffered and she drew out a sedative, just in case, for she had no idea how he would react to freedom ….

Or what his state of mind might be ….

She took up the hypodermic syringe containing the antidote and administered it into the badly compromised vein in the back of his right hand, then took up a syringe filled with Adrenalin and injected it directly through his chest wall into his heart, gently massaging the area with the heel of her hand to further stimulate the cardiac muscle, and then she had listened to his chest, waiting for the first audible sound of his heart beating, noting the slight bruising to his chest where the resuscitation team had used the electric paddles to try to restart his heart earlier in the day ….

After a few seconds, she could hear something, very faint, a tentative fluttering rather than a proper beat and so she administered the Atropine and again listened to his chest, relieved to be rewarded with a much stronger beat as his heart contracted and began to pump blood around his body.

After slipping an oxygen mask over his face, Yana had then inserted the IV into the crook of his left arm and hung the bag of fluids, then took his pulse and blood pressure and recorded these readings, along with the dose of drugs she had just administered in his notes.

She was just finishing up, when Mischa came to the back of the truck and lifted the canvas to poke his head inside.

"All done?"

"Yeah …. How is he?" He wore an anxious expression as he looked from Yana to the insensate man and then back to Yana.

"Alive." She grinned at him. "Oh ye of little faith …."

"We'd better send a report to Control before we get on the road …. It will be harder to transmit regularly once we are on the move …. I'm sure they'll be relieved to hear that he is ok …. How long before he's conscious?"

"I don't know, love, but it could be a while …. His system has been almost completely shut down for almost nine hours …. I've never used this stuff before so I don't really know what to expect …. But, so far, so good …. Did you get everything out of the jeep?"

"Mmmm, and I drove it, and our friend Lieutenant Grodsky, out into the woods and left them in a gully, covered with dead foliage. No way to see it from the road …." He assured. "I siphoned off what was left of the gas, so that should keep us going for a while …. We should get on the road as soon as it gets dark …. If you think he's up to it …."

"Up to it or not, I think we'd better get as much open road between us and the base as we can …. We still have a long way to go. I'd like to get as much distance between them and us as I can, before they discover the switch …."

"Me too. I'll go send that report. Shout if you need a hand."

"Ok love …. Mischa …. You'd better give them all the details. The people who come to take him home will need to know …. He will need to be kept under observation, so …. As this is possibly the last chance we will have to transmit a lengthy report, you'd better tell them everything …."

"Everything, huh?"

"Yes, everything …. They'll understand that I did what was needed to be done." She grew serious then. "After all, they did leave it to us to use our initiative …."

"Ah yes …. So they did." Mischa grinned then, but he agreed with her about sending in a detailed report at this time. It would serve as their first debriefing, and stand as the official record if something should happen to either of them before they could report in full to Control.

"Tell them that a vacation Stateside wouldn't go amiss right now too …." She chuckled, catching his light hearted mood now.

"Can't see that happening …." He grouched. "Too much going on here …."

"So they can send someone else in to deal with it …."

"Ok, but I don't think they'll buy it …."

"You never know, love …. They may just decide that our faces suddenly became too familiar in certain quarters and realise that discretion is the better part of valour …."

"We can live in hope." He quipped as he ducked out under the canvas and disappeared.

Despite the precariousness of their present situation and the uncertainty of their future, Yana could not help smiling to herself. He was such a good man, and he genuinely cared for her, she was sure ….

And, she had discovered in the last few hours, worrying over his safety, fearing that he might be discovered …. That he might be shot ….

She cared for him too.

Strange, how it had crept up on her like that ….

Her fondness for him ….

And she made a promise to herself at that moment, that if they got out of this alive, she would make every effort to let him know just how she felt about him and encourage him to do the same.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three.

_**Knightsbridge – Headquarters of the Firm**_

_**Wednesday 11**__**th**__** July, 1984.**_

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III let out a soft sigh as he stepped off the elevator into the penthouse vestibule and heard Dominic Santini's voice coming from the direction of the lounge room.

Archangel had just come out of a very long and tedious meeting with Zeus and the Committee at which they had drawn the line as to what Santini and Alex Beecham could do in their bid to retrieve Stringfellow Hawke from Russian territory.

Needless to say his temper was more than a little frayed and he had no desire to go in to the lounge room and tell Dominic Santini what the Committee had decided.

However, he was keen to learn how Alex Beecham had performed on the check flight.

Archangel limped slowly into the lounge room, greeting Santini and Alex Beecham with a gentle nod and a smile as he made his way to the coffee table, where he poured himself a cup of strong black coffee and then carrying it carefully, made his way to the couch, where he sank down wearily.

Santini and Alex were here for an update, and to requisition supplies for their upcoming mission, and both looked relaxed ….

Although Archangel could not help noticing the pinched, almost pained expression on Alex Beecham's lovely, pale face. She looked tired, but there was a fire in her dark eyes, an excitement that he had not seen there in many a long day, and he knew that she had done more than enough to convince Santini of her fitness to back him up in the engineering section of Airwolf.

If he was honest with himself, Archangel had to admit that he was more than a little relieved that he would not have to try to learn how to operate Airwolf's defence and weaponry systems. He was already so tired and strung out that he feared that he might keel over at any moment, and the added pressure of having to learn so much in such a short space of time, and get it right, first time, he knew, would have been too much ….

He didn't need the hassle or the pressure.

And he certainly didn't need Dominic Santini telling him 'I told you so ….'

Dominic Santini was no pushover. If he thought Alex Beecham was up to this mission, then there was no point in challenging him.

And the pointed looks that Alex had been giving to him had made it clear that there was little or no point in his trying to convince her not to do this ….

She was determined.

And who was he to rob her of the chance to be with the man that she loved ….

However, he couldn't shake the dreadful feeling in his guts that this mission wasn't going to be as straightforward as the Committee imagined ….

And that someone might not come back ….

After the ruling the Committee had just made …. Archangel knew that it was quite possible that none of them would make it back alive ….

"Michael …. How did it go?" Alex Beecham asked wearing a sympathetic expression on her face as she noted the tightness and tiredness in his expression.

"Ok …."

"Any closer to finding out who …. the guy …. The look-alike was?" This from Santini now and Archangel could understand his need to give the man an identity other than that of Stringfellow Hawke.

"Afraid not." Archangel sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. "I guess we have to accept that we may _**never**_ know who he really was …. I know that's tough, Dominic, but I got a preliminary post mortem report back early this morning and there was too much scaring from recent plastic surgery to know what he looked like before …. They even altered his finger prints, dammit …. We don't have a clue where to start looking …. He could be just about _**anyone**_, from just about _**anywhere**_ …." He sighed deeply.

"But he must have a name …. Maybe even family …. You guys must be able to do _**something**_ to find out who he was …."

"I can appreciate your compassion, Dominic …. It's very commendable of you …. You spent more time with him than any of us …. But we're_** not**_ miracle workers …. Despite the image we try to project …. We've got little or nothing to go on …."

"So the poor suck will end up in an unmarked grave in Potter's Field …."

"Better that than with a headstone proclaiming him to be Stringfellow Hawke …."

Dominic Santini threw him a bitter look, then turned his back and took several paces away from Archangel, before turning back and fixing the man in white with a resigned look of acceptance.

"Well?" Dominic Santini asked then, changing the subject as he moved to sit down in the armchair opposite Archangel and regarding him with an eager expression on his face.

"The news from Russia is good." Archangel mustered a smile. "We got a brief communiqué from Gypsy and Minstrel to confirm that they have got him out of the base, in one piece, and they are now making slow progress East, toward the co-ordinates outside of Magadan …."

"Then let's get going …." Santini rose swiftly from his chair.

"Sit down, Dominic …."

"But …."

"Please …."

Santini sank back down into the deeply padded seat cushion and glowered at Archangel.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not gonna like what you have to say, Michael …."

"Because you're not, Dominic …." Archangel sighed and now Alex Beecham came to sit down beside him on the couch, placing her empty coffee cup on the table between herself and Dominic Santini.

"Go ahead, Michael …." She invited softly.

"We still don't know for sure that it _**is**_ Hawke …." Archangel sighed deeply then and took a quick sip of his coffee. "All we know is that they have successfully rescued a man who bears a striking resemblance to Hawke …. Now that they are on the move, it is possible that we will only get snatches of information from Gypsy and Minstrel and we probably won't know for sure that it is Hawke until you guys rendezvous with them at the pick up point …."

"Did they say if he was ok?" Dominic Santini asked with genuine concern.

"Only that he was alive and in one piece."

"Ok …. That's good …."

"But what about us?" Alex Beecham asked now. "What did the Committee say about us taking Airwolf to pick up String?"

"I made them see the sense in it …. By the way, how did things go up there?"

"Fine." Dominic replied succinctly. "So what did the Committee say?"

"Providing Alex checked out ok, they realised that there was no other choice …. However …."

"However?"

"However …. They have put strict restrictions on what you can and can't do."

"Like what?"

"Like making sure you're not detected by Russian ground radar …."

"Gee, Michael, how do you do that? I'll keep her on the deck for as long as I can, but we both know, they gotta know that we'll be coming for him …. They'll be on the look out for us."

"Maybe not …." Archangel sighed.

"What's that supposed to mean, Michael? You trying to tell me that your agents have managed to get him out of that stinking hellhole without stirring up a hornets nest of trouble in the process?"

"It seems so …." Archangel sighed deeply once again.

"I'd like to know how they managed _**that**_ …. Maybe they could use the same kinda voodoo to help us get in and out without being seen."

"Does it matter …. It has to make your life a little easier, Dominic …."

"Michael …."

"Oh all right …. It is my understanding that Gypsy contrived a way to swap the drug the Russians have been giving him, with another drug …. That would induce the symptoms of a heart attack …."

"What!"

"It's simple, Dominic …. The only way to get him out of there without raising suspicion and causing holy hell, and for our agents to get out in one piece too, was if this Prisoner Z was …. Dead …."

"They killed him!"

"For all intents and purposes …. Yes …. However …."

"But you said …."

"I said that the drug induced the _**symptoms**_ of a coronary …. Not that he actually _**did**_ have a heart attack, Dominic …. It had to _**look**_ real …. And I am sure that Hawke probably _**believed**_ that it _**was**_ real, but Gypsy knows what she is doing and how to revive him …."

"Geez …. How low will you guys go …."

"It worked didn't it."

"But what if they hadn't been able to bring him out of it …."

"There was no chance that that would happen. Gypsy had the antidote with her at all times, just in case she had to bring him around quickly …."

"Did you know about this?"

"No …. I left the details to them. They are experienced field agents, Dominic, they didn't need me to nursemaid them through this. I gave them an order, and believe me, they know better than anyone what they had to do and how best to go about it. These are two of our best agents, Dominic …. They've been in deep cover for longer than any others currently working for the Firm. I trusted them to do the job in the best and safest way possible."

"My God …."

"It's done with, Dominic …. Move on. There are other more important things to consider."

"Like what?"

"Like the Committee's wishes."

"Another however?" Dominic Santini snarled sarcastically.

"Yes …. However …." Archangel growled back equally sarcastically as Alexandra Beecham watched with silent amusement at their antics.

She had been curious to know how they had managed to get String out of that Russian base, and despite the fact that it was pretty drastic, she had to admit that it was ingenious ….

And clever.

She also knew that once they had got him back, she would have to keep a close eye on String, to make sure that there were no long lasting after effects from the drug.

"The other restriction to the mission is, that you do not engage the enemy." Archangel was saying now.

"What?" Both Santini and Alex Beecham spoke at the same time, Alex turning incredulous dark eyes on Archangel.

"You do not engage the enemy."

"But what are we supposed to do if they don't want to play by our rules, and start shooting at us?"

"You were a combat pilot …. A long time ago, Dominic …. But I am sure that you remember something called evasive manoeuvres." He saw Santini bristle, and wished that there was something that he could do to over ride the Committee's decision.

"Does that mean that we can't even defend ourselves at all?" This, from Alex Beecham now.

"No. But the Committee are adamant that there will be no firing of weapons over Russian territory …. _**You do not shoot first**_, understood Dominic?"

"Only over Russian territory?" Santini picked up on that quickly and wanted clarification. "Once we're back over international waters, if they pursue us …."

"Hopefully you'll be in and out and they won't know a thing …."

"And tomorrow I'm gonna win the State Lottery …."

"Dominic, don't bitch at me …. I'm not the one making the rules here …." Archangel ground out then, losing patience with the older man.

"I know how you feel, and dammit, there is no way that _**I**_ would send you out there without the right to defend yourselves, but _**I'm**_ not running this show anymore, Dominic …. The Committee will not agree to the deliberate killing of innocent Russians just to get one man back …. Even if that man is Stringfellow Hawke …." He pointed out.

"Besides which, you are two _**civilians**_, two _**private **_citizens, in an aircraft that does not officially exist …. The mission has to be designated as a simple medical rescue …."

"So, what you are saying, Michael, is that Airwolf is just going to be a glorified ambulance on this trip …." Santini snarled. "Why the hell bother using her at all!"

"Because she's fast, Dominic …. Faster than anything else we have, and we need to get Hawke out of there pronto, before he self destructs like his look-alike did!" Archangel countered.

"Guys …. Guys …. Surely the most important thing is that we get String and ourselves out …. Safe and sound." This, from Alex Beecham now, who had realised that tempers were getting very short, but that that would not achieve anything.

"Of course it is." Archangel confirmed with another sigh and an apologetic look at Santini. "I'm sorry, Dominic, really, I am …. I tried …. I tried to make them see that they couldn't send you in there without teeth, but Zeus overruled me …. You see, from his view point, its better if Airwolf and all of you get blown out of the sky, than to have to explain to the President why Russian airmen were killed, by _**civilians**_, on a simple _**medical rescue mission**_ …. We'd rather not start a war over this …. Even though _**they**_ made the first move …."

"Gee Michael …. Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country …. I think that's one helluva an ask …."

"Dominic, they can't get away from the fact that you are civilians! If you get caught, all Washington will have to do is deny any knowledge and it will be all over, my friend …. We can't be seen to be condoning civilians taking action against the Soviet Union …. They might even consider you mercenaries …. Dammit man, if you get caught you could end up standing in front of a damned firing squad, and the US could do diddly squat to help you!" He paused to take a breath then.

"Don't you think we thought of trying something else, Dominic …. Wait for Hawke to be picked up by the Navy, somewhere on the coast, and then you could go pick him up once they were back in neutral waters …."

"And how many days, hours …. will that add before he gets the medical attention he's gonna need …." Santini cut in. "Before he's home?"

"Ok guys …."Alex Beecham intervened then. "We all know that unless we agree to the mission parameters, we won't be going anywhere …. So, let's just accept what the Committee has decided …."

At this point in time, Alex Beecham was prepared to agree to anything so that they could just get down to the business in hand ….

Bringing home the man that she loved.

"Let's just get there and back in one piece and bring String home the quickest way we can …. It's what we all want …." Archangel nodded, grateful for her voice of reason now.

"Yeah …." This from Dominic Santini now, who seemed to realise that he was venting his anger on the wrong person. "Does that mean we don't get the weapons we requisitioned?"

"No Dominic, Airwolf will still have her full compliment of weapons …. After all, once you are out of Soviet airspace …. That's a whole different ball game. Just don't shoot any Russian ducks until you get back over the ocean …."

"Let's hope our Red friends play by the same civilised rules, if we get into a tag fight …." Santini rose stiffly from his chair then. "I'm gonna go and find Marella and check that they have everything loaded into the jeep …. You coming, Alex?"

"In a minute, Dominic …." She smiled at him then.

"I thought you were going to tell me about Alex's check flight …." Archangel protested mildly.

"She's terrific."

"A ringing endorsement."

"It's all _**you**_ need to know …."

"Ok, Dominic …."

"I'll be glad to have her along …. Covering my butt …." And with that, he walked briskly out of the lounge toward the elevator, calling back over his shoulder. "See ya downstairs, Alex."

"Yeah Dom …. I won't be a moment, there's just something I need to talk to Michael about …."

"You seem to have made a friend." Michael quipped as he reached out for the coffee pot to top up his cup, knowing even as he did so that he shouldn't really, because he was already strung out and wired.

"He's a nice man, Michael …. A good man. Now that I have met him, I see a lot of him in String …."

"Yes …. They're both stubborn and 'ornery …."

"They're both good men …. And like you, Michael …. They are both easy to care about."

"Alex …. Is there nothing I can say? Nothing I can do, to stop you from doing this?"

"No." she told him bluntly then. "And that is what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?"

"Mmmm" She opened up her purse and pulled out an envelope which she then handed over to him.

"I'm not stupid Michael, I know the risks involved …. And I am prepared to take them. This is the most important thing that I have ever done …. But …. If it goes south, and things don't work out as planned …. If I don't make it back …." Her voice caught in her throat then and she paused to take a deep breath.

"If I don't make it back, promise me that you will take care of String for me …."

"Alex …."

"Michael, I'm trying to be realistic, that's all. I plan to live to a ripe old age, marry that stubborn, 'ornery man you admire so much too, and have a brood of kids …. But …. Just in case it doesn't turn out that way …. I want you to keep this safe, and when the time is right, I want you to give it to String …."

"Alex …."

"Michael …. Please. Just do this one thing for me." She smiled gently then, but there were fat tears welling in her eyes. "And one more thing …. Keep him honest. Don't let him brood or sink into depression, don't let him blame himself …. I already told him that that is not what I want or expect from him …. Don't ever let him forget just how much he meant to me …. Just how much I love him …."

"Ok …." He took the envelope from her, surprised to find that it was quite heavy, containing something more than just sheaves of paper.

"Promise me."

"I promise …." He intoned solemnly. "But nothing is going to go wrong, is it, Alex …."

"That's the plan, Michael. I fully intend to get that telegram from the Queen of England on my one hundredth birthday …." She grinned then, taking another smaller envelope from her purse and offering it to him.

"What's this?"

"Just a little something for you …. For if I don't make it back …."

"Dammit, Alex …."

"It's only a few lines …. Outlining what I would like you to do …. Should something happen to me …. Please …. Take it …."

"Don't do this to me, Alex …." His voice cracked then and she could see the distress in his one good eye.

"Someone should know my wishes, Michael …. And I'm figuring that String won't be up to it, emotionally or physically, when he gets back …. And apart from String, you are the only other person I care about …. The only other person I trust to do as I wish …. Do this one thing for me, please, Michael …. When I come back, safe and sound, you can rip it up and burn it if you want to …. I'll even give you the match …." She smiled softly then. "But I'll rest easier knowing that you know what I want and will take care of it for me, should anything happen to me …."

"Alex …."

"I love you too, Michael …." She dropped the small white envelope into his lap then. "Be my friend …. My Guardian Angel one last time …." She leaned in and pressed her lips briefly to his, then drew away quickly, rising from her seat and scooping up her purse and he struggled to rise from his perch on the couch too.

"I'd better go meet Dominic …. Check out those weapons and medical supplies …."

In the next instant, Alexandra Beecham found herself in Michael Coldsmith Briggs III arms, crushed against his hard, lean body in the sweetest embrace she had ever known from a man …. Other than Stringfellow Hawke, and she let out a soft little sigh of contentment.

"Did I ever thank you …. For everything?"

"Thank me? You should hate me …. I should have protected you from Moffett …. I should have killed him for what he did to you …"

"No, Michael …. That would have made you as bad as he was …. And you're not. You're a good man, and a compassionate man …. I always knew that you had my best interests at heart …. And I know that you feel the same way about String …. Take care of him for me …."

"I won't need to …. You'll be there to do it yourself …."

"That's right …." She forced herself to draw away from him then and despite the tears rolling unhindered down her pale cheeks, she forced her lips to form a radiant smile.

"Don't worry Michael, everything will be just fine. You just let us know when we can start out for Alaska. I know that Dominic would rather be cooling his heels up there than sitting here, in the sunshine …. One step closer to our objective …. Our goal …."

Archangel released her regretfully then and took a step back from her, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat before replying.

"I'll get your clearances sorted out with the Air Force and be in touch …. It will take you both at least a day to get all of those weapons loaded and ready …. And then there are the ground checks and the check flight to get through …. If everything goes according to plan our agents in Russia should have gotten plenty of miles between themselves and any kind of threat by then…." He paused for a moment. "But if I hear anything else from Gypsy and Minstrel, in the meantime, I'll let you know straight away …."

"Thanks …. Cheer up, Michael …. String will soon be home …. And thanks again for going into bat for us with the Committee …."

"I don't know which of us is the most crazy …." He smiled softly then, unable to shake the dreadful feeling that he was possibly sending her to her death ….

And the awful certainty that she sensed it too ….

As though she knew that she wouldn't be coming back ….

Hence the letters ….

Tying up the loose ends of her life ….

He wondered fleetingly, if this would be the last time that he would see her …. Before she and Santini left on their mission to Russia ….

She smiled radiantly back at him again then, briefly, hoping that he would see that she was absolving him from any guilt, then walked demurely across the room and disappeared into the vestibule where a few minutes later he heard the elevator start its descent.

_**Later that same day ….**_

"Dominic …. Do I really have to?" Alex Beecham eyed the rolled bandana that Santini was holding out to her, having stopped the jeep on a deserted stretch of desert highway, with only mile after mile of mesa, cactus and crystal clear blue sky for as far as the eye could see, so that she could put on the blindfold.

"Afraid so …." But he threw her an apologetic look.

"You still don't trust me, Dominic?" She sighed her disappointment and took the rolled up piece of bright red cloth from him.

Alex immediately regretted her words when she saw his expression harden.

"I'm sorry, Dominic …. I didn't mean …. Why should you …." She rushed on. "I mean we barely know each other …."

"It ain't that, Alex …. When it comes to the Lady, the only person I trust on this earth is String …. I'm sorry if that offends you, but I'm not taking any chances …."

"Ok Dominic …. I understand." She smiled weakly, slipping the bandana carefully over her eyes and holding the two ends behind her head for him to tie for her.

"Just don't bounce us around too much …. I still haven't got my sea legs back, after the last trip …." She grinned good naturedly then, hoping that she was facing the right direction, unable to see through the folded material as he gently tied the ends securely.

"What is it with everyone, criticizing my driving …. First String …. Now you …." He grumbled, but she could tell from his tone of voice that he was only teasing and she could not help smiling softly as he gunned the engine and they began to move once more.

The journey to the Lair seemed much shorter than Alex recalled from her first trip, putting it down to the darkness of the very early hours of the morning, the disorientation caused by the blindfold and the sick headache she had been suffering during that journey.

When they reached the cave, Dominic quickly untied the blindfold and they both sat gazing at the Lady for a few minutes in silent admiration.

"You know, we could have let the guys at Knightsbridge do this …." Alex commented as she watched Dominic huff and puff as he hauled boxes of supplies out of the back of the jeep and began to stack them around the cave, feeling more than useless as he had refused to let her help him.

"No way." Dominic bristled and gave her a sour look.

"We won't be much use to String if you break your back hauling this stuff …." She moved closer to the jeep and reached in back to try to pick up one of the smaller boxes.

"I can manage." Dominic bristled again, and Alex knew that she was fighting a losing battle against his stubborn male pride.

Well dammit, she had some pride of her own ….

"At least let me take the lighter stuff …. I'm not completely incapable you know." She bristled this time, trying to let him know that despite the fact that she was female, she could manage to carry a box or two without fainting dead away.

Something in her tone of voice made Santini stop his work and regard her with an apologetic look.

"Hey …. I didn't mean to imply you were …." His voice trailed away then as he noted the anger and indignation dancing in her big brown eyes.

"Weak and feeble?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Yes …. No …." He stammered nervously.

However, Alex could not help grinning then and Santini let out a shout of laughter as he realised that she had been teasing him.

"Very funny …." He chuckled. "No wonder Hawke likes you …." He chuckled again.

"Ah shucks …." Alex was suddenly blushing very becomingly and Santini was grinning all over his face.

"You wanna help …. Here." He picked up a small box of medical supplies and thrust them toward Alex.

"Gee …. Thanks …." She giggled, having to take a small backward step to keep from falling on her behind.

"I guess if we are going to be a team on this mission, we should start acting like one …." He smiled softly at her. "Right?

"Good, then we should work out who is doing what with all of this …." She nodded toward the pile of boxes.

"I guess I'm doing the manual work and you can do the fancy technical stuff that String usually does …."

"I can do the manual stuff as well, Dominic." She protested. "I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty …."

"I didn't mean that …." He let out a soft sigh. "Look, let's stop the dancing around each other shall we. I'm not being disrespectful to you, Alex, on the contrary, I'm an old fashioned kinda guy, and I treat my ladies with respect …. Courtesy and dignity …. I still hold doors open, carry the lady's packages and walk on the traffic side of the sidewalk, that kinda thing …. I can't change the way I was raised …. The man I am …. But if you wanna roll up your sleeves and get elbow deep in grease and grime, be my guest ….

"Getting messy was one of my favourite things as a kid …. I wasn't allowed to very often, so …." She explained with a mischievous grin. "We are a team, Dom, and teams work together. We'll share the chores, so neither one of us will be too beat to go on this mission …. I know just as much about that beautiful machine as you do, and I learned about maintenance from some of the best pilots in the business, back home in England when I was getting my wings, so …. What I don't know, I'm not too proud to ask …. To learn something new …. You take one system and I'll take another and we'll get the job done in half the time …. And then, when we're done, and this is all over, you can carry my packages and hold doors open for me any time you like …. And you won't here me complain. Deal?"

"Deal …."

"So what are we doing standing around, there's work to be done!"

They each set to their tasks and were soon immersed in the work, Dominic Santini resisting the temptation to stand over Alex Beecham as she installed the rounds of ammunition for the chain guns and he worked on loading the Bullpup missiles and Starbursts.

After a couple of hours of serious work, they stopped for a coffee and sandwich break, sipping hot strong coffee, which Dominic had brought in a flask, and spicy salami on crusty Italian bread and chunks of smoked cheese, and sweet, juicy peaches for desert, which Alex had contributed, and Dominic could not fail to see how much Alex Beecham was enjoying herself, grinning like a school kid under the streaks of grease and oil daubed all over her lovely face. It was infectious, and he found himself grinning from ear to ear.

There was so much that he wanted to know about her, but was too much of a gentleman to ask.

She didn't volunteer much either, much like Stringfellow Hawke in that respect, private and closed about herself and her life. Dominic Santini could respect that. Maybe when they knew each other a little better, she would feel more comfortable about opening up to him, but in the meantime, he was happy to sit back and wait.

She wasn't difficult to like, and he got the impression that she liked him to. It made working together so much easier. She wasn't afraid to speak out, or to stand her ground when she thought that she was right, but she wasn't so stubborn that she simply could not see his point of view without an argument.

By the time they had finished on the weapons systems, Dominic Santini knew that he had never enjoyed a day's work so much in a long time.

Bone tired and having worked up a healthy appetite, despite their al fresco lunch, hands and faces smeared with oil and grease, Alexandra Beecham and Dominic Santini sat side by side on the sandy floor admiring Airwolf and their respective handiwork and then grinned at each other.

"That was fun …." Alex chuckled, toasting him with her plastic coffee cup.

"Glad you think so, as we have to come back and do it all over again tomorrow." Dominic grinned at her.

"Leave me here …. I'll sleep on the floor …. I don't care, so long as I don't have to wear that wretched blindfold again …." She sighed forlornly. "Dominic …. I really have no idea where we are, you know …." She looked up at him appealingly. "We could be in Cairo for all I know …."She wiggled her eyebrows at him mischievously then.

"Not even I can drive over the ocean, honey …." He chuckled at her antics. "No dice."

"Didn't String ever tell you that I have no sense of direction? That I am a totally uncoordinated klutz …. I need a map and compass to find my way to the bathroom …."

"Gee, now she tells me! On the eve of our trip to the land of borscht and Balalaikas …. It doesn't exactly inspire confidence!" He grinned down at her. "Still no dice."

"Spoilsport …."

"You keep that up lady, and I won't be responsible for my actions …. You ain't so big I couldn't put you over my knee and paddle your backside …."

He stopped dead in his tracks then, suddenly conscious that he might have overstepped the mark with his teasing, however, Alex Beecham surprised him by laughing gently and reaching up to press soft, warm lips to his rugged old cheek.

He was flattered, but confused, and he could not help frowning.

"What was that for?"

"For being you." She grinned.

"Huh? Come again?"

"For being you, Dominic Santini …. Sweet and gentle and good natured and easy to get along with …. Thank you …. Thank you for treating me like one of the family …. But most of all, thank you for not treating me with kid gloves …." She reached up once more and kissed his leathery old cheek one more time.

"I'll tell you what I told Michael …. Now that I have met you, I see so much of you in String …. So many of the good, wonderful things that make him the man I love and care about. He is the best part of you as well as the good things he inherited from his parents. It's not hard to see why he loves you so much …."

"Gee, now you're gonna make me cry …." Santini quipped, but he was genuinely touched by her words.

She really was a very special young woman, and again he could not help feeling joy in his heart that his young friend had found such a woman to share his life with.

"Oh no …. Please don't do that …. I don't want any more nightmares!"

"Hey!" He punched her playfully in the shoulder then. "Cheek!"

"Brute!" She punched him back and then they both roared with laughter.

"We better get cleaned up …. It's getting late and we need a good night's sleep so that we can make another early start tomorrow." Dominic was the first to pull himself together and get serious.

"One more day should do it …. We can work on the last of the ammunition together, and then I'll check the main rotor and tail rotors tomorrow and you can make sure that the software is all ok …." She nodded her agreement then, wiping the tears of laughter from her cheeks with the back of her grease marked hand.

"And then we'll take her up for a check flight …. Get refuelled for the trip to Alaska …. And then we wait …."

"The hard part."

"Yes .… The hard part." He smiled at her again.

"Maybe we won't have to wait too long …."

"From your lips to His ears …." Santini raised his eyes heavenward briefly and then looked back down at Alex and found fresh tears swimming in her eyes now.

"Amen to that …."

"C'mon honey, lets get out of these clothes and hit the road …. I could murder a nice juicy steak …."

"Oh yeah …. Me too …. Or a double cheese burger with the works …." She grinned.

"My God, lady, with talk like that you could really turn a guy's head!" Santini roared with laughter. "Like music to my ears …. All I usually get from String is fish and vegetables and omelettes …. Hell, that dog of his eats better than I do when I'm up there …. Unless I bring my own that is …."

Dominic Santini continued to talk, about everything and nothing, as they tidied away the tools and made Airwolf secure for the night and then changed out of their dirty coveralls before climbing back into the jeep.

"Will you do the honours?" Alex asked, holding the bandana up against her eyes ready for him to tie around her head.

"I'm sorry about this, Alex …."

"Don't be, after all, it won't be forever, will it Dom …."

"Maybe not …."

"Well don't just sit there, my stomach feels like my throat has been cut …." She grinned then. "Put the pedal to the metal Dom and find us that steak house before I die from starvation!"

"Your wish is my command …."

_**Friday 13**__**th**__** July, 1984.**_

_**Russia – somewhere in Siberia – 10.25am **_

Stringfellow Hawke came awake slowly, and the first thing he noticed was that he was cold ….

Shivering ….

Teeth chattering and hands shaking ….

The second thing he noticed was that he was moving ….

Swaying ….

Lying on his back looking up at a khaki coloured canvas ceiling ….

Rocking and bouncing ….

God ….

He was alive ….

How could that be?

_**He was alive ….**_

And on the move ….

"Hey, look who's awake again…." A face moved into his line of sight, and much to his surprise, it was a face that he recognised.

The red headed doctor ….

Yana Petrova moved closer to her patient, her keen, professional eyes noting the confusion on his face.

He had drifted in and out of consciousness several times over the last twenty four hours, sometimes calling out in his sleep, troubled by dreams she could not understand, body wracked by chills one minute then consumed by fever the next, perspiration pouring out of him as he tossed and turned in the make shift cot until eventually he had stilled and slept more soundly.

"Red …." His voice was weak and thick, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth it was so dry.

"Awake and a little more lucid, I see …." She quipped with a smile.

"Cold …."

"I know …. Not much I can do about it though …. It will pass." She reassured.

He struggled to reach out with his hand to touch her amazingly red hair with shaking fingers then, but she did not shy away from him, only smiling now, relief etched into her pretty features and her smoky grey eyes.

"Hi."

"Hi …."

"Yana Petrova …." She offered him her hand to shake in introduction. "Actually, it's Dr Maggie Brown …." She told him in perfect English, with, he marvelled, a broad New York accent. "Code name, Gypsy."

"Stringfellow Hawke …." He managed to get out before a fit of coughing robbed him of his voice and the little breath he still had.

"Pleased to meet you …. Take it easy there, just breathe deeply and slowly …." She instructed. "It's going to take your system a little while to recover …."

"Heart attack?" He choked out at last.

"Why don't you do as I tell you, Mr …. Hawke …. You'll feel better in a little while. Would you like some water?" He nodded then and she slipped her hand under his head, raising it slightly to allow him to take a mouthful of cool clean water from a canteen.

"That's enough …." She told him when he took another gulp. "Little and often, for a while, until your system has recovered …."

"I had a heart attack, didn't I?" …." He lay back against the lumpy pillow, with her help and let out a deep sigh, unable to stop himself from thinking that if he had a bum heart, it would almost certainly put an end to his flying career ….

"Well …. I'm sure that's what it _**felt**_ like …." He frowned up at her then. "After all, that was what it was meant to _**look **_like …." She told him gently. "It was the only way to get you out of there, without all hell breaking loose and a lot of innocent people getting caught in the firing line …." She told him without apology.

"Oh God …." Realisation began to permeate his befuddled brain slowly. "You? What the hell did you do to me …."

"Rest now, Mr Hawke …. Save your energy …. We have a long way to go before this is over and we are all safe …. There will be plenty of time to talk …."

"You drugged me?" He ground out incredulously.

"I had no other choice …. It's over now and you are going to be all right." She assured him confidently.

"I can promise you that there will not be any long lasting effects from the drug _**I**_ had to use to induce the heart attack symptoms …. With plenty of sleep, and fluids, the drug will pass from your system harmlessly …. Although I can't say the same about the drug _**they**_ have been giving you for the last few weeks …."

"You drugged me …." He glared at her with watery big blue eyes. "I thought I was _**dying **_…."

"And I am sure that you were most convincing …." She smiled at him benignly then. "It had to _**look**_ convincing …. You really had to appear to die …. And it had to look real …. To _**everyone**_ involved …. _**Including you**_. I'm sorry, but there really was no other way …."

"You drugged me …." He groaned.

"Yes …. Get over it."

"I feel like hell …."

"Just be grateful that you are alive." She told him sternly.

"That's easy for you to say, Red …. I feel like I was run over by a train …." He absently reached down to his ribs which were obviously causing him some discomfort.

"They tried to resuscitate you …." She gave him an apologetic smile then. "You'll be a little sore there for a while."

"You don't say …." He groaned in a rough voice.

"That's nothing compared to how you are going to feel …." She told him regretfully then. "I hate to tell you this, but the stuff they have been using is an experimental drug called GKP, and when you don't get your next dose, you are going to feel the effects of withdrawal …."

"Withdrawal?"

"Mmmm."

"How bad?"

"I'm not sure …. It's probably already begun …. You'd been on the stuff for a month but you've already been more than twenty four hours without a dose now …." She patted his shoulder reassuringly when he frowned up at her.

"I don't know …."She said in response to the question she saw in his beautiful blue eyes. "But …." She let out a deep sigh. "It won't be pretty …. I'll do what I can to ease you through it, but …. de-toxing from any narcotic is dangerous and unpredictable …. "

"Cold turkey …."

"Yes, cold turkey …. But I'll be here with you …."

"String …." He prompted her then when she gave him a questioning look.

"String …. We'll get through it, _**together**_ …." She reassured, patting his hand now. "Mischa and I have gone to a lot of trouble to get you out of that place, and I have no intention of letting anything bad happen to you now …."She assured.

"Mischa?" He frowned.

"The man driving the truck …. My partner, Steven McGee, code name, Minstrel …."

"You're with the Firm …."

"Bingo. Give the man a prize!" Yana grinned then.

"I could have blown your cover back there, couldn't I?" Hawke asked somewhat sheepishly.

"Yes, you could." But to his surprise she continued to smile at him

"Sorry …."

"Forget it …. Americanski! Couldn't you think of something a little more subtle …."

"I could barely think at all …. And I was fighting for my life …."

"Yana." She prompted him now.

"I was fighting for my life, Yana, and desperate to get the hell out of there."

"It's all right, Hawke …. I know that …. I guess you could say that that makes us even …."

The look he gave her told her that he didn't think so.

"No harm was done …." She smiled sheepishly then. "Although, because of your antics, that sadistic bastard, Gregorovich …." He frowned up at her then. "The big, ugly, humourless Captain with the big right hook …." She clarified and he nodded in recognition of the brute who had inflicted much of his pain over the past few weeks.

"He went to the Senior medic in charge and got me taken off the testing programme …. Anyway, it's water under the bridge now …."

"I could have gotten you killed …. I'm sorry …. I didn't know you were undercover …."

"And until your little act back there, I didn't know that you were American …. It saved your bacon …. String…." She patted his shoulder reassuringly then, noting as she did so that his eyelids were beginning to flutter and he was struggling to focus on her face.

"I hope you believe me, when I say that I only did what I had to do …. We needed to get you out of there with as little fuss as we could, and there was already a body just sitting there waiting to be returned to his family …. Pulling a switch was the most natural thing to do …. But to do it convincingly, you had to …."

"I had to die …." He spoke slowly now, his voice thick as he struggled to make the words sound coherent.

"Exactly."

"Clever."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah …."

"And you'll live to tell the tale …. I'll make sure you get your Russian death certificate as a souvenir." She chuckled at the look on his face.

"Ok …. Now try and get some rest, String. Sleep is still the best cure for most things …."

"Where are we going?" He managed to fix his heavy eyes on her just long enough to ask the question.

"The Russian Far East…. A nice secluded little spot miles away from any kind of civilization …."

"How long before we get there?"

"A few days drive …. Plenty of time to get you well enough to be fit company for your folks when you get back home …." She took his hand and squeezed it gently, then moved her hand up to his wrist to take his pulse.

"And you will get back home, String …."She assured him with a gentle smile. "There are a lot of people working to make sure of it …."

"I know …."

"You have some pretty influential friends, String."

"I guess …." His eyes fluttered closed once more and this time, they did not open again.

Within a couple of seconds he was breathing slowly and evenly as he succumbed to sleep, and Yana Petrova patted his shoulder tenderly one more time before turning her attention to changing the bag of IV fluids hanging from a hook on the roof of the truck.

_**Friday 13**__**th**__** July, 1984.**_

_**The Lair –Dawn Over The Valley Of the Gods - Nevada USA**_

"Penny for your thoughts?" Alexandra Beecham regarded Dominic Santini thoughtfully and smiled softly when it took a moment for him to register what she had said.

They were both a little weary, having worked most of the previous day, Thursday, on fitting the remaining weapons, overhauling the main engine and the main rotor and tail rotor systems and then installing and testing the computer systems.

They had worked in companionable silence, concentration etched into both of their faces, no more joking around, as they got down to the serious business of checking that Airwolf and all of her defence systems were ready and in full working order.

It had been dusk by the time they had finished and too late to take her up for the mandatory check flight, and so Dominic had arranged to pick Alex up from her place at four fifteen am this morning.

During a routine check in with the Firm, Dominic had learned that Archangel had arranged for a fuel tanker to refuel Airwolf at thirty five thousand feet at 06.00 hours at pre-arranged co-ordinates over the ocean, giving her enough juice to get her to Elmendorf Air Base, Anchorage, Alaska, which was their final destination, and where they would take on more fuel and rest, staying to await their orders to begin their mission to the Soviet Union ….

However long it took ….

Guests of the base's Commander.

The journey out here had been a silent, solemn affair, Alexandra nursing a Granddaddy of a headache, pounding away like a constant jackhammer in the centre of her skull, making her feel nauseous, grateful for once for the blindfold and the darkness of the pre-dawn morning to hide her pallor and the pain and anxiety etched into her face, and Santini lost in his own silent thought.

When they had arrived at the Lair, they had both sat for several minutes just staring at the beautiful machine that they were relying on to help them bring back the man that they both cared for safely, from foreign and extremely unfriendly soil ….

And then Alex had hopped out of the jeep and reached in back to retrieve her overnight bag and a small parcel that she had placed there when Dominic had collected her.

Santini had remained seated in the driver's seat of the jeep and for a moment she could see that he was very far away indeed ….

Even when she had walked around the jeep, and stood beside his door, regarding him curiously.

"Huh?" He snapped out of it at last, and turned slightly to regard her with puzzlement. "Oh yeah …. save your money honey, they ain't worth even a penny …."

"Dominic …."

"I'm all right, Alex." He sighed deeply.

"I know how you feel about the Committee's orders …." She said, guessing the direction of his thoughts.

"Fools …."

"Yes …."

"String and I had to do it once before …. Go into Russia without any weapons …. We had to strip this baby down to the bare bones, so that we could pull out some important people …. it was the only way to get them all out together …. I swore then that I would never do it again …. Too risky …. Too crazy …." She saw him shudder then.

"Well, you know what, Dominic, what the eye can't see, the heart can't grieve over …." She laid a gentle hand on his forearm then, drawing his blue/grey gaze and he frowned at her.

"What they don't know can't hurt them …. Or us …. If it comes to the crunch Dom, and we have to defend ourselves …." Her voice trailed away briefly then, but the look on her face told him that she knew, as did he, that it was almost a foregone conclusion that the Russians would send aircraft after them, and they would be forced to fire back if fired upon …. No matter where in the sky they were ….

"How are they to know exactly where and when …. We won't have the time to write down the exact coordinates and in the heat of the moment …. Well, details can get overlooked …. Forgotten …. Data can be destroyed …. Rendered useless …." She winked conspiratorially at him then.

Slowly Santini began to take in what she was saying, and a smile began to curve at his lips.

"Beautiful _**and**_ devious …." He chuckled.

"Compliments, this early in the morning …." She grinned. "Another reason why I like you, Dominic Santini …." She paused for a moment then, growing thoughtful.

"I'll make a deal with you, Dominic …. I don't care what we have to do to get String back …. I just want him home, safe and well …. And so does Michael …. Although I am sure that at this moment, you're having a hard time believing that …." She squeezed his forearm gently and smiled at him again.

"We both know that we can't really comply with the Committee's orders …. Hell, they would think that we really are insane if we did …. But they had to issue that order, they had no other choice …. just as we had to go along with it …. Grudgingly." She pointed out reasonably.

"From the moment we leave Elmendorf, Dominic, we're on our own, and we'll have to do what we have to do to survive …. You have to do whatever it takes to keep us in the air and alive, long enough to complete our mission successfully…." She paused to take a small breath then, and for the first time that morning, Dominic Santini noticed how sickly she looked, tired and pale, her eyes possessing a haunted quality ….

Not fear ….

Pain ….

"So I'll go along with whatever you have to do …." She told him, fixing him with steady brown eyes then. "Just get us there and back in one piece …. _**Whatever**_ we have to do, we _**have**_ to do …. I understand that, Dominic …. And when we get back, I'll do my best to square it with Michael, and then he can set the Committee straight …. They'll find some way to deal with it, straighten it out …. Michael will make sure of it …. ok?"

"Ok."

"_**Whatever it takes, Dominic …."**_

"Whatever it takes."

"No matter what happens …. The most important thing is getting String back. Deal?"

Dominic Santini could not help admiring her guts ….

Her understanding of the situation they were about to enter and what might be required to achieve their ultimate goal.

She did not flinch from that.

She knew that they might have to kill ….

Or be killed ….

But still she did not shy away.

"Deal …." He confirmed in a soft voice.

"Good, now we'd better get a move on, we have a rendezvous to make …."

"Bossy boots …." Dominic chided. "What you got there?" He suddenly noticed the package she was carrying along with her overnight bag.

"A surprise for String …. I'd like to leave it here …. If that's ok …. Then I'll know its safe …."

"You can leave it on the work bench if you like."

"Thanks. You'll make sure he finds it …."

"Sure …."

"Ok …. C'mon then …. Tempus fugit and all that …."

"Huh?"

"I thought you were Italian …."

"Sure, sure .… but Latin …. that's like Greek to me …." He grinned, sliding out of the jeep and chuckling at his joke, unaware of the pained expression on Alexandra Beecham's face.

"Ouch …." She quipped, her face breaking into a broad grin. "It means 'time flies ….'"

"And the fun ain't even started yet …." He added, holding out his hand for her overnight bag. "I'll stow the gear and get changed …."

"I'm right behind you …."Alex told him, although she headed for the overcrowded workbench where she carefully set down the package amongst the clutter of tools and spare parts, making sure that it was positioned with String's name on top. Then with a soft sigh, she turned and began to walk toward Airwolf, making for the engineering cabin and her flight suit ….

And her appointment with destiny.

24


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four.

_**Tuesday 17**__**th**__** July, 1984.**_

_**Russia – somewhere on the Central Siberian Plateau.**_

_**7.30am.**_

"How's he doing?" Mischa Ivanov asked with concern etched into his face, as Yana Petrova carefully jumped down off the tailgate on the back of the truck.

She looked dreadful, face pale, smoky grey eyes wide, fine lines etched into the flesh around them and smudges of blue, almost like bruises, beneath.

It had been a dreadful couple of days for her and her patient, the sudden deterioration in Stringfellow Hawke's condition causing both Yana and Mischa considerable concern.

He had slept peacefully for while, but as Yana had predicted, the symptoms of withdrawal had begun to manifest themselves, and he had quickly sunk into delirium, thrashing about in the narrow bunk and shouting out different names, lashing out at Yana when she had tried to soothe him, and fending her off when she tried to make him comfortable or to take his observations.

He had developed a fever soon after, which had spiked twelve hours later, not soon enough for Yana Petrova who had watched his temperature climb up through the roof and his over heated body convulse again and again ….

At one point, she had been terrified that she had lost him.

After one particularly nasty seizure, his body had grown rigid and then collapsed against the bunk, perfectly still. When she had checked his vital signs, she had not been able to find a pulse and had immediately set about performing mouth to mouth resuscitation, inflating his lungs carefully and forcing air into and out of his lungs with chest compressions, until at last she had detected a very weak pulse and saw with relief his chest begin to move slowly up and down as he inhaled.

Shaken and on the point of tears, Yana Petrova knew that his body would not be able to take another seizure like that one. Already weakened by the awful conditions in which he had been forced to survive, and the treatments, the strain on his heart would simply be too much.

Soon after his fever broke, the nightmares returned, and with them, a super human strength that had seen him violently thrashing around in the bunk once more.

By this time, Yana had persuaded Mischa that they had to stop, go to ground somewhere quite for a while, and allow the nightmares and the hallucinations that were plaguing him to run their course. Hawke was irrational and unreasonable and simply refused to allow her to offer him comfort or to try to soothe him, when he awoke screaming and sobbing, and seemed not to recognise her as the paranoia took him over.

The sedative she administered seemed not to have any effect at all.

All they could do was wait it out.

His distress became so unbearable that all Yana could do was take him in her arms, cradling him lovingly against her warm body as he shivered and shook and thrashed about wildly and sobbed uncontrollably hour after hour, until finally he had no strength left to do anything but sleep.

Mischa had found a quiet spot off road, in a densely wooded area, and they had stayed there for the last two nights, until the crisis had passed.

It had all come to a head when Hawke had launched himself at Yana, strong hands around her throat, as he accused her of all manner of horrendous things. It had taken all of Mischa's strength to haul him off her, and he had been forced to belt Hawke around the jaw to subdue him ….

More bruises to his poor face ….

After wrestling him into submission,Mischa had handcuffed Hawke to the side of the truck, and sat with him until he had calmed down, then during one of his more calm and lucid moments, Mischa had explained to him in reasonable tones, sitting calmly with his handgun resting casually in his lap, in plain sight, so that Hawke could not fail to see and understand it's implications, that they were trying to help him, not trick him, and that it would soon be over and he would be in the loving arms of his family back in the States ….

So long as he behaved himself and kept his hands to himself ….

After that, Hawke had slept, but then his physical condition became a concern to Yana again, as she became aware that he was in considerable pain, stomach cramps that made him double over and robbed him of breath and she also noted that his vital signs were all over the place, heart racing and blood pressure climbing, only to fall rapidly as his heart beat became irregular and fluctuated alarmingly.

This had continued for another twelve hours until at last he had fallen into a fitful sleep, just as dawn had broken and Yana had watched over him, holding his hand and gently pushing his damp, sleep tousled hair from his forehead, until his breathing became deep and more even, succumbing finally to a more peaceful slumber.

It was the beginning of the seventh day of their journey and they still had some way to go before reaching the rendezvous co-ordinates.

"He's sleeping …. At last." Yana smiled wanly at Mischa, as she walked slowly over to the small fire he had made to heat water for tea and helped herself to a cup of black tea from the pot sitting in the embers of the fire.

They had both slept in the truck at night, Yana close to her patient and Mischa in the cramped, uncomfortable cab of the truck, both wrapped in inadequate blankets, neither really getting any sleep, just dozing, alert to the slightest sound from both inside the truck and out.

"Do you think the worst is over now?" He asked and watched her sip gratefully at the bitter tea.

"I hope so …. I don't know about him, but I don't think _**I**_ can take much more …." She confided.

She had never felt so tired in her life ….

Or quite so helpless, as she did right now.

All of her skills as a physician had been tested to their very limits, and she still wasn't sure that he wouldn't take another turn for the worse ….

She had never witnessed anything like it before ….

And she found herself praying that she would never have to be in a position where she would have to witness anything like it again.

The pain he had experienced had been awful.

Agonising and relentless ….

The deliriums exhausting and emotionally draining.

Nothing she could do for him except to hold him, hold his hand, speak soothingly to him, trying to reassure him that everything would be all right ….

That he was not alone ….

That it would soon be over and he would suffer no more ….

"At least he's quiet …. For the time being." She took another sip of her tea. "We should be moving on, Mischa …. The longer we stay still, the more chance a random patrol will come along." He nodded in agreement, his expression still one of concern, but for Yana now.

She looked dead beat and emotionally wrung out and his natural instinct was to go to her and gather her into his arms ….

"You should try to get some sleep, Yana …." He coaxed.

"Later …."

"You look all in …."

"I am …."She smiled wryly then. "But if he wakes up …."

"If he wakes up, I'll see to him …. And if he gets rowdy again, I'll punch his lights out …." Mischa grinned.

"Gee …. My hero!" Yana rolled her eyes heavenward then in amusement. "I think this fellow might respond a little more positively to some TLC …. He's had more than his fair share of the rough stuff lately …."

She noted the clouding of his expression then and sighed softly as she hastily added.

"Not that I am saying that what you did wasn't necessary …. That I'm not grateful, Mischa …. I couldn't have handled him …. He was way too strong for me …."

"There's food …. If you are hungry." He changed the subject then and Yana was grateful.

"Oatmeal again?" He nodded and was unable to suppress a smile when she pulled a face.

"I think I'd rather eat my own foot than that awful stuff again …." She grumbled, but bent down to lift the lid on the cooking pot perched over the fire, poking the contents with a large metal spoon. It was pale, thick and glutinous, and she knew that it would taste akin to wallpaper paste, but there was nothing else on offer …. And there was one consolation …. They had plenty of sugar and honey in the bags of supplies, which she could use to disguise the taste.

"With or without your shoes and stockings?" He quipped, crossing to where she stood with a metal bowl in his hand.

"Funny …." She grinned, slapping a dollop of the oatmeal into the centre of the bowl he was holding out to her now. "I don't suppose there's any milk left?"

"Now who's the comedian?" He grinned, then watched as she sprinkled four spoonfuls of sugar onto the oatmeal and thinned it down with a splash of black tea before taking a mouthful tentatively, and grimacing at the taste of it.

"I'll eat this, and then I'll help you break camp …. Did you send a report to Control?"

"Sure did …. Told them as much as I could about his condition …. About why we had stopped …. I gave them an estimated time of arrival at the rendezvous, but I'm not sure we'll make it."

"Then we shouldn't waste anymore time sitting here chewing the fat …." She crammed more food into her mouth hastily and Mischa could not help smiling at her.

"Hey, take it easy …. I really don't think five more minutes is going to make that much difference in the grand scheme of things …. Careful …." He warned as she began to cough. "My Heimlich manoeuvre is a bit rusty …." He chuckled.

"When did you say we would be at the pick up point?" Yana asked when she had finished coughing and had swallowed the remainder of her breakfast without further incident.

"It's Tuesday today …. I told them we should be there by midnight Friday, latest …."

"Then we'd better make sure that we are, hadn't we."

"It will mean no more stops …."

"We'll manage." She reassured. "How are we for supplies? Gas?"

While she had been tending to Hawke, Mischa had gone on a reconnaissance mission, finding the small local settlements in the area and he had walked to the nearest villages and purchased dried goods, tea and bread, things that were easily carried and would not draw attention to himself, and had then hurried back to their hideout, not wanting to leave Yana alone and defenceless for too long.

"We're ok for food …. For a little longer, especially as our guest back there has such a poor appetite …. But we're low on water …. And Gas could be a problem …. We should make it to the pick up point, but we'll probably be on fumes by the time we get there …."

"So I guess that leaves you and me walking to the bus station …." Yana quipped.

She had been disappointed to learn from Mischa, after his first report to Control, that they would not be liberated with their compatriot ….

No room for them in the transport that they were sending to collect him ….

She and Mischa were to lay low and await new orders ….

Or the arrival of a transport of their own out of Russia.

New orders, Yana knew, would probably have them going their separate ways ….

For their safety more than anything else.

If they stayed together they could be endangering each other ….

And arrangements for another transport to get them out could take days to set up.

Mischa would probably end up making his way to Magadan where it would be easy for him to blend in, look for work in one of the mines ….

She, on the other hand, would find it much harder to find work …. She might even have to travel as far south as Khabarovsk or Vladivostok …. Which would mean more opportunities for her to be discovered ….

The look on Mischa's face told her that he too had worked out what they might have to do and he didn't look happy about it.

"That's ok ….. I could use the exercise …." She shrugged and smiled then, wanting to reassure him that whatever they had to do to survive would be alright with her.

"I won't leave you, Yana …. We're in this together."

"Even to the point of dying together?" She chided.

"If necessary." He told her bluntly moving toward her now and taking her in his arms. "I love you …. Wither thou goest, I goest …. Ok." He clamped his lips down firmly on her's, surprising Yana Petrova with the fierce passion of his kiss, heat and colour blooming in her cheeks as he finally drew away from her.

"Oh my …" She gasped when he drew his lips away from hers at long last, but for once, she was completely lost for words.

"I mean it, Yana …." He told her emphatically and the look on his face tore at her heart.

"I know you do, love …." She reached out with slightly shaking fingers and caressed his stubble covered chin now. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that …. Dying together, I mean …." She smiled lovingly up at him then. "Oh, and by the way, for the record, Mischa Ivanov, I love you too …." She grinned wickedly then when she saw the surprise register in his eyes. "When all this is over, and we are some place safe …. Kiss me like that again …."

"I promise …." He grinned back then, his eyes raking hungrily over her face, body.

"Enough already!" She punched him playfully in the shoulder then. "Plenty of time for _**that**_ later …. Come on then, let's get moving …. We still have a lot of ground to cover, and people relying on us to keep to a deadline …."



_**Wednesday 18**__**th**__** July, 1984.**_

_**Elmendorf Air Base, Anchorage, Alaska.**_

_**Noon.**_

Dominic Santini sat impatiently inside Airwolf's cockpit, sighing heavily as he waited for the planned communication with Archangel.

He and Alex Beecham had been twiddling their thumbs here in Alaska, for almost a week, waiting for the go ahead to begin their mission. Airwolf stowed away in the back of a darkened hangar away from the prying eyes of foreign spy satellites and curious Airmen, and with Alex and Dominic sharing guard duty, each spending alternate nights sleeping in the cockpit and their days thoroughly checking each system for any glitches and keeping her oiled and primed and clean ….

So much so, that a weary Dominic had joked that any missile that got near them would just slide off the hull because it was so highly polished.

Dominic was beginning to get worried about Alexandra Beecham. She seemed to be looking frailer and paler as each day passed, although she passed it off as just being tired and worried over String.

He could empathize with her.

He was tired and grouchy and anxious to be doing something other than maintenance and watching her tinker with the computer software, telling him that the new lines of code that she was entering would be helpful if they needed to get out of Indian country fast ….

A routine upgrade, she assured him and Dominic had nodded silently, thinking that where they were going, any little thing that she could do to tweak the Lady's performance would be more than welcome.

No news, in this particular case, was definitely _**not**_ good news ….

Archangel's prediction that they may not hear much from Gypsy and Minstrel had proved correct, and they were no closer to knowing the true identity of the man they were going to bring out of Russia ….

And both had grudgingly had to accept that it might not be Stringfellow Hawke after all ….

And that they could quickly be back at square one ….

No closer to answers about what had become of the man that they both loved.

As the week progressed and it became harder and harder to find something to do to fill their time, they were both getting impatient and testy, even with each other, and were tired of the curious looks aimed at them from the base personnel who were curious to know why they were there.

Alex sat in the engineering cabin right now, silent and staring absently at illuminated instrument panels, catching up on long range weather forecasts and waiting for Archangel to radio in.

Dominic had tried to engage her in conversation, but she had merely smiled tiredly at him and told him that once this was all over, and he had her undivided attention, she would answer all his questions.

Dominic had experienced a moment of anguish as he had looked at her, _**really**_ looked at her for the first time in days. Her face was so pale it was almost white, and there was now more than just a hint of pain in her tired, red rimmed eyes ….

She had barely eaten a thing since they had arrived, despite the fact that for the military, the food wasn't half bad here at Elmendorf, and the fine lines around her eyes were testament to the fact that she was sleeping badly too.

He found himself praying that once this was over, and she and Hawke had spent a few weeks up at the cabin, with all that fresh air and good food, and loving they had to catch up on, he would see the roses return to her cheeks and contentment and love replace the worry and the fear and the pain in her lovely dark brown eyes.

"Knightsbridge to Airwolf …. Come in, Dominic."

"I'm here." Santini snarled into the microphone in his helmet.

"So I hear …." Archangel sighed softly.

"What ya got for us?" Santini demanded. "What's taking so long?"

"Dominic, we knew from the getgo that this could take some time …. The terrain is not conducive to easy travelling and they are having to stay away from main roads because they don't want to rouse suspicion …." Archangel reminded, but Santini knew that he was only blowing smoke.

"Just tell us, Michael …." Dominic sighed again.

"We had word …. Just a little while ago …. They had to hole up for a while, because their companion's condition deteriorated." Santini winced as he noted the deliberate way Archangel did not refer to the man by name.

"Is he ok, Michael?" This, from Alex Beecham now, her tone weary and edged with concern.

"Yes. They had to lay low for a couple of days, but he seems to be over the worst of it now. At least they are back on the road and heading for the pre-arranged co-ordinates."

"Do we have an ETA?" Santini demanded.

"Friday …. Midnight, local time. That's approximately 4am your time." Archangel advised.

"Good …. At last." The relief in Santini's voice was obvious. "It's approximately four hours flying time, but maybe with a tail wind this baby will get us there a little quicker …. Which means we will have to leave here at …."

"Midnight, Thursday evening …." Alex interjected for him.

"Thanks …."

"You all set?" This from Archangel now.

"Do you have to ask? We've been ready and chomping on the bit for almost a week, Michael …."

"Ok. Do you need anything else?"

"A direct line to the big man upstairs wouldn't go amiss right now …." Santini quipped, relieved that he would soon be able to go in to action. "Failing that, the biggest steak dinner for two you can come up with when we get back."

"I'm not sure about your first request, but the second one …. It's a done deal, Dominic …. I'll go rope a steer myself and make sure they cook it to perfection. How do you prefer your steak, Alex."

"Medium rare."

"Me too …. And make sure it's not too tough …."

"Your wish is my command, Dominic …. I'll speak to you again before you leave …."

"Sure thing, Michael …."

"Archangel out."



Chapter Seventeen.

_**Friday 20**__**th**__** July, 1984.**_

_**The Russian Far East, near Magadan.**_

_**10.30am**_

Stringfellow Hawke opened his eyes and let out a soft sigh as his eyes focused and his gaze settled on the concerned face of the redheaded doctor, Yana Petrova. He tried to lift his right hand to rub at his aching forehead, only to find it handcuffed to the metal strut on the side of the bench and he returned his gaze to the red head, glowering at her now.

"Hi there."

"Is this how you treat all your patients?" Hawke growled in a rough voice, waving his handcuffed hand in the air as high as it would go.

"Only the ones who try to choke me." She chided, and then smiled softly at him.

His colour was much better today. His pulse and respiration were steady and within normal ranges and his temperature was down. He still looked like death warmed over, but his attitude told Yana Petrova better than any chart, that he was feeling better.

Hawke had the good grace to look slightly ashamed as he took in what she said, vaguely recalling now, the big bear of a man with the gun on his lap warning him to keep his hands to himself, if he wanted to get home in one piece.

So, it hadn't just been another dream.

He let out a soft sigh, his gaze softening now.

"So, how am I?"

"How do you feel?"

"Weak as a new born …." He sighed deeply again then, and made a sour face. "Like every bone in my body is broken …."

"They're not." She assured him with a soft smile. "But I'll find you something for the pain in a minute."

"And I feel like my brain is in a kind of fog …. Having trouble thinking clearly …. Still not sure what is real and what I dreamed."

"That's only to be expected. You have to give yourself time. The drug, GKP, is potent stuff, it's meant to affect the brain, String, because it is a mind controlling drug. I think the crisis is past, but you are still going to feel a little …. weird …. for a few days until it's completely out of your system." She explained with a serious expression then.

"Weird, huh …." He gave her a lopsided grin. "That a new medical diagnosis, doc?"

"You're really very lucky …. It could have been much worse." She smiled tiredly back at him and patted his hand gently.

"Gee thanks …. Although at this moment I can't imagine how …." He groaned expressively.

"Anything else?" She prompted.

"Yeah …. My tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth …. Any chance of getting a cup of coffee around here …. And oh yeah …. I think I'm hungry." He told her with some surprise, feeling the gnawing emptiness in the pit of his stomach.

"Well that's a good sign." She grinned back at him. "I'm afraid we have rather a limited menu …. No coffee, but you are more than welcome to a couple of mouthfuls of water …. And a few crackers with some honey, to begin with. You need to get your blood sugar back up a bit, and that should help to make you feel a bit better, and then when we stop, you can have a little oatmeal."

"Right now, even that sounds good …."

"Good, I'll get the key to those handcuffs from Mischa in a minute …. If you promise not to get rowdy again."

"Who me? I don't have the strength …." He confided. "My arms and legs feel like rubber."

"That will pass, after you've had something to eat."

"Just don't give me anything with meat in it …."

"You'll be lucky, we've been living on oatmeal, vegetables and rice for almost a week. Why?" She gave him a curious look then.

"I'm allergic. Makes me sick as the proverbial dog …."

"Ah …."

"Yeah …. They gave me something back there that really didn't agree with my system …. I'd rather not go through that again, if it's all the same to you."

"Ok, you have my word. No meat."

"How soon before we get to wherever it is we're going?"

"Well, we had to stop for a couple of days, because you were not very well …." She did not volunteer any more information, but the look on her face told him that it had not been pleasant, for either of them, and he was suddenly glad that he had no memory of what had occurred in the past few days.

"Which has delayed us, a little …. Also, the roadway isn't brilliant, barely paved, so we had to slow down a little …. To save the suspension …. But, Mischa seems to think that we will make our deadline and be at the rendezvous by midnight tonight. About fourteen hours from now." She reached out and patted his hand gently now. "Plenty of time for you to get some more rest."

"Hey …. I'm sorry …. About before …."

"Forget it." She told him softly. "We both know you weren't responsible for your actions. I know you're not really that kind of guy." She chuckled.

"Why are you doing this? Helping me?"

"You mean aside from the fact that it is our job …. that we were sent here to find out what the hell our Red friends were up to?" He nodded.

"You weren't sent here specifically to rescue _**me**_, were you?"

"Look, Mr Hawke, I don't think anyone had any idea what the hell our mission would turn out to be in the beginning …." She grinned. "They rarely do …. We have had to learn to just go with the flow …. But, when we sent in our report to Control, they seemed very pleased that we had found something important that they had thought that they had lost .… So …. Here we are."

"Well …. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"You took a terrible risk …."

"That's what this job is all about …. Taking risks …. Some are more worthy than others …. I happen to think that you are worth the risk, String …. There was just something so compelling about the way you were fighting to stay alive …. I guess I admired your guts."

"Thanks …."

"You never know, one of these days, you may be able to do the same for Mischa and I …."

She busied herself then with pouring out a small measure of water for him to sip at and then pulled out dry crackers and a small jar of thick golden honey for him to dip the crackers into, then after retrieving the key to the handcuffs from Mischa, Yana released him so that he could sit up a little in the make shift bunk.

She watched him nibble cautiously on a cracker and tried to hide a smile then reached out for a cracker for herself, dipped it into the honey and popped it into her mouth with relish.

"It's not poisoned. See." She grinned at him and saw the look of relief in his eyes. Obviously he still wasn't completely sure that he could trust his rescuers.

"Who's Alex?" Yana asked, rising from her perch beside his bunk to check on the bags of IV fluids hanging over his bedside.

When he did not answer, Yana glanced down at him and frowned.

"You were delirious for some time, and calling out for different people. Someone called Dominic, someone else called Sinjin?" she frowned at the strange pronunciation of the name and he nodded.

"Dominic is my dearest friend …. My …. Father, I guess …." The look on his face told her that he had rarely admitted his true feelings for the man to another soul …. Perhaps even to himself and she smiled softly at him. "Sinjin …. Spelt Saint John, is my brother."

"And Alex? You got very upset when you called out his name."

"Her. Alex is a girl …. My bird …." He smiled mysteriously then and she frowned down at him, her head tilted curiously to one side as she regarded him with smoky grey eyes.

"The woman I love and plan to marry when all this is over." He told her candidly and she smiled then. "She's the reason I fought so hard to stay alive …. To not give into this …." Yana nodded in understanding.

Love was a very powerful emotion ….

And, in his case, strong enough to keep him alive.

"You will see her again, very soon."

"I hope so …." He pushed the jar of honey and the packet of crackers away then and she frowned down at him.

"Done?" He nodded, and she could see how tired he looked now, fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open any longer. "Get some rest. I'll wake you when your ride gets here." She smiled softly at him.

"Thank you." He managed as his eyes fluttered closed once more and soon his breathing was slow and steady and even as he slept once more.



_**Dominic Santini (Ernest Borgnine) piloting Airwolf **_

_**Friday 20 July, 1984.**_

_**Elmendorf Air Base, Anchorage, Alaska.**_

_**11.55pm**_

"Elmendorf Tower to Alpha Whisky Zero One …."

Dominic Santini heard the call from the Air Traffic Control Tower echo in his helmet and just for a moment did not register that the airman in the tower was addressing him, so deep in concentration was he.

"Hey, Dom, I think he's talking to you …." Alex prompted from the rear cabin, a chuckle in her voice.

"Huh?"

"The tower …."

"Oh yeah …. Well it ain't the Avon Lady …." He chuckled back. "I hear 'em …. Must have zoned out there for a minute …."

"Alpha Whisky Zero One, do you read, Sir?"

"Keep your underwear on son …." He muttered under his breath, as he drew in a deep breath in readiness, feeling the familiar clenching of his stomach muscles that always accompanied the rush of adrenalin he felt before setting off on any mission.

"Affirmative, Alpha Whisky Zero One, I read you loud and clear, strength ten." He responded.

"Thank you Sir …. You are cleared for take off …. No inward bound or outward bound traffic for twenty miles, as requested Sir …."

"Affirmative."

"Weather is clear for thirty miles, possible storm clouds to the North beyond that …. Have a safe trip and …. Good luck Sir …."

"Thanks son …. Alpha Whisky Zero One out …."

Dominic gently eased Airwolf out of the hangar, eyes darting from one instrument panel to another as he nosed her out on to the patch of concrete beyond the hangar doors.

"Hey, you awake back there?"

"I sure am." He heard the grin in Alex Beecham's voice now and was reassured. "I got me a hot date tonight, Dominic, so step on it and don't spare the horses! My heart's doing about 90 knots and my palms are wringing wet …."

"Ah, love …. It'll do it to you every time." He chuckled.

They were both feeling much more alert and positive after their last brief communiqué with Archangel, who had immediately informed them that Gypsy and Minstrel had finally been able to verify their travelling companion's identity, and that it was indeed Stringfellow Hawke. They had also confirmed that he seemed to be much better, physically, if a little weak, and that they were on schedule to reach the rendezvous as arranged.

The remainder of the conversation had been routine confirmation of arrangements, the co-ordinates and rendezvous times for the refuelling of Airwolf on the return leg of the journey to the States, and check in times for reports on their progress.

And finally, and regretfully, Archangel had reiterated the Committees order that they do not engage the enemy ….

At least not until they were clear of Russian airspace ….

"Ok, fasten your seat belt honey …. Here we go …."

"Not a minute too bloody soon either …."

"Amen to that …."

Airwolf gracefully rose from the concrete and climbed effortlessly to twenty thousand feet, with Alex Beecham monitoring weather and communication channels and calling out their altitude to Dominic as they rose up through the low cloud cover.

Once they had cleared the coast, Dominic took Airwolf down below ground radar and again Alex confirmed that the scopes were all clear.

Three hours later, and settled into the routine of the flight, Dominic, used to the banter that flew between himself and Stringfellow Hawke whenever they were on a mission, was feeling a little uncomfortable with the silence from the engineering cabin, and with his own thoughts, which kept drifting back to the last time he and Hawke had taken a trip into Russian territory without armaments.

Even String had been uneasy on that mission.

They had had to stay on the deck all the way there and back again ….

And when Hawke had told him that he planned to take her down to fifty feet give or take a few feet, Santini had joked back that it wasn't the fifty feet that bothered him so much as the give or take a few ….

Now, he was going to have to try to emulate that magnificent feat of low level flying at high speed himself, using the helmet view of the SLAS, Starlight Amplification System. It was an amazing piece of technology, but even though they had taken Airwolf up in the early hours of a crystal clear Alaskan morning a couple of days ago, just so that he could try it out, he still wasn't as confident as he felt he should be.

It was also one of the systems that Alexandra had tweaked …. Increasing the resolution of the picture projected onto the inside of his visor and giving him better definition of the terrain ….

Almost like daylight ….

Almost, but not quite ….

Dominic Santini still had his reservations.

He wasn't Stringfellow Hawke.

He didn't have Hawke's intuition …. His affinity with the machine …. Or his instincts.

"Hey, Dominic, you ok up there?" Alex Beecham's concerned voice suddenly filled his helmet.

"Sure, sure ….

"You're awfully quiet …."

"You too …." He shot back. "Just thinking about String …." He added softly.

"Me too."

"You won't have long to wait now, honey …." He found himself grinning. "You never did tell me how the two of you actually met …."

"Well you see Dominic, that's top secret …."

"Ah c'mon …."

"Ok …." She sighed softly. "You may not know it …. I don't know how much, if anything String has told you …." She paused for a moment.

"A whole heap of nothing, honey, that's what String's told me …." Santini informed her and Alex found that she wasn't surprised.

He was such a closed book, that Stringfellow Hawke.

Intensely private.

It wasn't such a bad thing …. But it did make it difficult to get to the heart of what was on his mind …. When something was bothering him.

"Well …." She let out a wistful sigh now, before continuing. "I was a completely different person back then …. Different name …." She hesitated then, something strange about her tone of voice and Santini frowned, however, before he could question her further, the smile was back in her voice as she continued to speak.

"String and I met working on this baby …. I was part of the team of eggheads responsible for the computer software …. Designing it, writing it, making sure it worked …. And then teaching the test pilots on the programme how to talk to her properly, and putting them through their paces in the simulator. String was by far the best student …."

He could hear the grin in her voice then, and Santini suddenly recalled Hawke's comment to him a little while back about having a good teacher ….

He understood now ….

Hawke had been talking about Alex.

"String didn't resent me, no matter how many times I tried to kill him in the simulator …. He took it as a challenge." She chuckled. "Some of the other test pilots would get all up tight and bent out of shape, about this geeky kid outwitting them and sending them to hell in a fireball every time they stepped into the simulator, but not String. He didn't take it personally. He used it as a way to hone his skills as a pilot, recognising the hand of another experienced pilot in the way the scenarios were built. If he failed in the simulator he would come back next time, having thought it out, and then he would succeed …. If I hadn't altered the programme in the meantime, that is …. If he failed again, he would put his pride and his ego aside and come and ask me how I would have handled it …. I never did tell him." Alex was grinning broadly now, lost in the memories of falling in love for the very first time.

"I guess that's how you know Michael …. Archangel, huh? But how did you get involved in the first place?"

"Dr Charles Moffett …."

Dominic felt a shiver run down his spine, and not just at the mention of the name ….

But because there was something so cold, so hard, and so dead in her tone of voice.

"Charles Moffett. He was my Godfather …. He was a controlling, manipulative, jealous old man and he thought that I was his property …. I was very young, very naïve and inexperienced in many ways …. I trusted him …. My parents entrusted my welfare to him because he was a very old friend and they trusted him too. I didn't know anyone else on the team, so I had to rely on him to support me and help me and guide me ….To take care of me …." She let out a shuddering breath then.

"Oh Dominic, I was still such a child back then, and I felt honoured and privileged to be working on such a marvellous project as this magnificent machine." Dominic Santini did not doubt it, for he could hear the pride in her voice now, and he could still remember the way that she had reacted when she had first set eyes on Airwolf.

"I was very much a loner …. I was what they called 'a bright child' …. A protégé, and that intimidated and alienated the other kids at school. So I was always cushioned and protected by my parents …. Cocooned …. Lonely …. Shy and awkward, and lacking in all the necessary social skills …. And I guess Charles put the word out that I was out of bounds, to make sure that he had control over me and my movements …. Which meant that none of the other scientists tried very hard to befriend me. They were pleasant, sociable, but not overly friendly, and they all valued their jobs too much. Yet, despite that, I found a friend …."

There was suddenly a catch in her voice and Dominic Santini could feel the strength of the emotion that she must have felt at being offered the simple warmth of unconditional friendship, from a man as reserved and haunted and damaged emotionally as his young friend Hawke.

"I found Stringfellow Hawke …. a man I understood …. I still don't know _**how**_ or _**why**_, I just _**did**_ …. And he understood me too …. When we were together, everything made sense. We made each other laugh …." She paused for a moment then, but Dominic did not disturb her reverie.

"String tried to teach me to dance, not this energetic disco dancing stuff that's so popular these days, but the slow, romantic, close together, cheek to cheek kind of dancing …. But, somehow we just kept getting tangled up in each other's feet …. And then we tried ten pin bowling …. And I ended up half way down the lane with the bowling ball still in my hand …. And String was laughing so hard he almost wet his pants …." She laughed softly then, and Santini struggled to picture the image of Stringfellow Hawke laughing that hard at anything.

"He was laughing so hard it was infectious, and all I could do was laugh too …. We were like a couple of teenagers and at one point, I was worried that the manager was gonna have us tossed out on our collective asses!"

"So that's why he don't play …." Santini chortled, still unable to get his head around the Stringfellow Hawke he knew and loved acting like a silly kid ….

Hawke had never acted that way, even when he had been a teenager.

Maybe when he had been a lot younger and carefree …. The feisty little guy who had so much to prove because he was so much smaller and weaker than his brother, St John …. Sickly ….

Then ….

After his parents had died, String had always been serious, always introverted, rarely smiling or laughing out loud, just giving him the 'eye' whenever he tried to joke around with him ….

To this day, Hawke was still that way ….

Or had been, until recently ….

Until _**she**_ had come back into his life ….

His soul mate ….

So it was difficult for Santini to imagine him letting his guard down with this young woman …. Even for a moment.

He was glad that String had found someone at last ….

Someone, that he could be completely open and natural with.

It was a slow process, but she had already proved to be the best kind of therapy that Hawke could have found.

"We had fun together …. I know you probably find that hard to believe …." She chuckled again. "But he does know how …. When he lets himself relax …. He can be very charming and endearing …. Very loving, affectionate, understanding and compassionate …. But he can also be very dark and hard to read …. When he pulls back inside himself …. When he tries to shut out the world …. We had our serious moments too …. You know String and how …. Withdrawn and closed he is sometimes …. How up tight and silent he can get …."

_**Ah honey, you know him so well already ….**_

"Yeah, I know …. Tell me about it …."

"But it helped that we could talk, _**really**_ talk …. We could tell each other anything. He would really open up to me …. And I felt able to ask him anything, tell him anything …. When we were together, suddenly, the world was a wonderful place, and everything made sense …. I knew what he needed in the way of love and affection, and he pretty soon figured out that I needed the same things …. I guess we fell in love, in spite of our selves …."

He could hear the wobble in her voice then, and could imagine those huge brown eyes luminous with unshed tears and could not help wondering if she would tell him why it had all gone south ….

He also knew that he wouldn't have gotten anywhere near this much information out of Hawke himself ….

"Anyway …." She took in a deep breath and seemed to pull herself together, perhaps realising that she had said just a little too much ….

"Things changed …. Circumstances over which neither of us had any control …. Fate intervened …." And her tone of voice now made it obvious that she was not prepared to go into any kind of detail.

"We had to go our separate ways …. And we lost touch with each other …. until recently …. When we ran into each other by accident …."

"That day at the school?"

"Yes …. You can imagine my surprise when he stepped out of that Army Huey …. He'd hardly changed at all, so handsome …. So hurt, so angry so …. Confused."

Santini could imagine Hawke's reaction. He had seen the young man when he had returned to the hangar that day and had known that something had occurred to ruffle his usually calm feathers.

"The rest, I am sure, you know …."

"Ya think!" Santini chuckled. "I know you make him very happy." Santini smiled. "That's what I know."

"He makes me happy too."

"I never seen him like this before, honey …. I've been meaning to thank you for that …."

"All I did, was love him, Dominic …. The rest he did himself …."

"You make that sound so easy, but I know different …. Somehow String seems to think that he and love don't exactly go together …. He believes that every time he gives his love, Fate finds some way to punish him."

"I know …." There was something so sorrowful in her voice then, Dominic Santini wished that he could see her face.

"Not any more though." He made his tone light hearted then. "I got a good feelin' about you two …."

"Yeah …. Me too …."

"Got anything to eat back there?"

"Dom …."

"I know, but thinking about my stomach will stop me thinking about those mountains we might be crashing into, if I don't get the hang of this starlight thingy …."

"All the more reason to keep your eyes on the road, don't you think?"

"Cheek! Just you concentrate on keeping our asses out of trouble …. Anything going on back there?"

"No …. Scopes are clear …. Oh hello …."

"Hello?"

"Now there's a coincidence …. You psychic or something?

"Why?"

"Bogies …."

"Where?" Santini demanded brusquely then. "What? Why didn't you tell me we'd penetrated Soviet airspace!"

"Because we haven't, Dominic …." She double checked their position with the navigation computer. They were still over two hundred and fifty miles away from the Russian coast, although it wouldn't have been long before she would have gotten a proximity alert from the computer, they were still a long way from their destination.

"Where are those birds now?"

"Twelve o'clock, Angels 30, fifty miles and closing …." Alex turned her attention to the panel before her and using the miniature keyboard typed in the code: _**Ident Bogie**_ and then watched as the command was acknowledged with the message: _**Search Enabled**_. A few seconds later she was rewarded with an image of the blips that were closing in on her radar scope. "MiG 23's armed with …. Ario missiles …."

"Oh brother …."

"Don't panic, Dom. My guess is they're a routine patrol and they're on their way back home to their vodka and their Borscht."

"I hope you're right …."

"Dom, they're coming from the North and heading East …. Same direction as us …. Not toward us, but ahead of us." She informed. "Maybe made a routine pass over the Arctic …. They have some research facilities up that way, so they probably went for a look-see to make sure everything was ok …. But they're too far away and going too fast to notice little ole us, behind them …. We're absorbing 92 of their radar scans …." She assured. "Let's hope they're as interested in their stomachs as you are …." She quipped.

"Yeah …. Do you hear that!" Santini groaned as a growling noise filled the cockpit.  
She did hear it too.

It was his stomach growling and she could not help chortling out loud.

"Where are those birds now?"

"Off the scope …. Like homing pigeons hankering after their coop, Dom …. Wanting their dinner and their nice warm roosts …."

"Ok …. So how's a guy supposed to concentrate if he's weak from hunger?" Dominic played the sympathy card now, relieved that any threat to them had passed for the moment. "Trying not to but those mountains just keep floating up in front of my eyes …."

"Oh boy …. Then by all means, keep thinking about your stomach!"

"I keep thinking about that steak dinner Archangel is gonna owe us when we get home."

"Oh well …. Dream on …. I packed Cheese and Pickle, or Ham Salad on Rye …."

"No Pastrami?"

"Yuk."

"You sound just like …."

"String." They said together.

"You take what you want first honey, I don't mind what's left."

"Actually, I'm not really that hungry …"

"Sure? Okay, I'll take one of each then …. Nothing disturbs my appetite."

"So I see …."

Alexandra Beecham casually leaned down to reach into the wicker basket that she had placed at her feet, having asked the Mess Officer back there at Elmendorf to pack it with food for their journey, and suddenly her head was filled with a terrifying roaring noise, as she felt the rear cabin tip up around her …. a sharp, excruciating pain shooting across the top of her head, like someone had split her skull with an axe …. Everything suddenly going black …. robbing her of breath.

She lunged forward making a grab for the control panel in front of her wanting to rip off her helmet so that her head would stop feeling like it was about to explode, but she needed both hands as she steadied herself, until the world righted its self once again, her stomach rolling and a wave of nausea making her gag.

She quickly drew in several deep breaths and willed the pain in her head to subside, then opened her eyes and quickly scanned the instruments around her, satisfying herself that Dominic Santini hadn't suddenly decided to go into his stunt pilot mode and throw in a barrel roll for her amusement.

"You ok back there?" Dominic's voice held a hint of concern and she realised that he must have heard her gagging. "You're not having one of _**those**_ moments, are you honey?" There was genuine anxiety in his voice then. "Alex …."

"No, Dom …." She managed at last. "Just clearing my throat …." She assured him softly, watching the violent tremor of her hands as she let go of the instrument panel before her at last.

_**Oh boy ….**_

_**No ….**_

_**Not now, dammit ….**_

_**Not now!**_

"You want coffee with that …." She added, hoping that he would not notice the tremor in her voice now, as she realised the significance of the incident, her heart pounding frantically in her breast and her hands still shaking violently.

She blinked rapidly several times to clear her vision as her eyes welled with tears of pain and fear, her head still feeling like it was clamped in a vice, although the worst of the pain was subsiding now.

_**Oh God no ….**_

_**Just give me a little longer ….**_

_**Just a little longer ….**_

_**Long enough to see the man I love …. Just once more ….**_

"You got coffee too?" Dominic was saying now and she found that she was grateful for the distraction. "Wow …. Smart, devious, beautiful and a good housekeeper …." He chortled then. "Yeah …. Why not."

Dashing away her tears, Alexandra covered her moment of weakness by busying herself with the food, carefully passing forward the small cup off the top of the thermos flask of coffee to him and the food he had requested.

"Look Mom …. No hands!" Santini quipped as he took a huge bite out of a cheese and pickle sandwich and sloshed hot black coffee into his mouth after it, the unmanned stick barely moving as Airwolf maintained her speed and altitude.

"You sure you're ok back there, honey?" Santini asked, wiping bread crumbs from his lips with the back of his hand and brushing more crumbs from his lap.

"Just having a sentimental moment, that's all …." She lied, hoping that he would accept her answer, and knowing that he was more astute than he looked ….

He had heard her gagging, heard the tremor and the momentary panic in her voice, and possibly her sniffing away her tears ….

He wasn't dumb.

He knew something was awry.

"Does that mean when we pick String up, you're gonna get all mushy on me?"

"Mushy?"

"Mushy."

"Only if you do …." She countered with a soft, genuine smile. "By the bucket load …." She chuckled. "He's probably gonna think he's drowning …." This time she let out a genuine giggle.

_**God bless you, Dominic Santini ….**_

_**You're such a dear, sweet, wonderful man …. **_

_**I wish I'd had more time to get to know you better ….**_

"That's ma girl …."

After his repast, Santini grew quiet once more and thoughtful, and Alex was glad for a chance to get her breath back and her equilibrium.

The 'dizzy spell' ….

She did not know what else to call it ….

Had frightened her more than she had had time to recognise at the time ….

_**And the pain ….**_

She had become used to the constant nagging ache that always seemed to be there, in the background, to varying degrees ….

Had learned to accept it's presence like an old friend.

But this pain had been different.

It was a significant, and worrying change.

Whatever had caused it, there was nothing that she could do to change it now.

_**Was this it then?**_

_**Was this the beginning of the end?**_

No ….

She mustn't start thinking like that ….

She couldn't let herself dwell on it.

She needed all her wits about her to concentrate on the mission and keep both her eyes and her mind focused.

As they drew closer to their destination, Alex Beecham sensed the change in Dominic's mood. He suddenly became all serious and businesslike when she told him that they had finally penetrated Soviet airspace.

"Company?"

"Nope …. It's just you, me and the stars up here, Dom …." She assured.

"Guess you were right about those MiGs …. This time …. Ok …. You see anything, I want to know right away …."

"Of course you do, Dominic …." She sighed deeply and rolled her eyes heavenward. "That's what I am here for …."

"Huh?"

"To be the eyes in the back of your head."

"Rear seat drivers …." He sighed in exasperation, but he was pleased to hear from her voice that whatever had overcome her for a moment or two earlier had passed, and she was back on form with the rapier wit.

"We're over the Sea of Okhotsk …. coming up on the Russian coast in five minutes …. Welcome to Magadan, ladies and gentlemen …."

Information began to fill the computer screen before her and she read it out to Dominic.

"Co ordinates 59 degrees and 33 minutes North, 150 degrees and 48 minutes East. Major port with ship building and fishing as the main industries, as well as Gold Mining a little further in land …. Oh boy …. Says here it's suspected to be run by forced labour ….

"Terrific, just what we needed …. A gulag and a Gold mine …. Is there any other place hotter in the Soviet Union? Gonna have Mother Russia's finest crawling all over us inside of five minutes to make sure word of both doesn't get out …." He grumbled darkly.

"Calm down, Dom, I'm sure any ground troops will be far more interested in making sure the gold and their workforce don't disappear …." Alex countered confidently, her eyes still focused on the computer screen which was continuing to throw up more information on their destination.

"Gee, Dom …." She changed the subject quickly. "I hope you brought your long johns …."

"My what?"

"Your thermal underwear …." She chuckled again. "Boy it gets cold down there in the winter …. Sub arctic conditions, prolonged winters …." She continued to read. "Six months of sub zero and below zero temperatures …. Terrain is mostly permafrost and tundra …. Average temperatures range from -8 degrees Fahrenheit in January to 54 degrees Fahrenheit in July …. Miami Beach it's not …."

"Then lets not hang around down there, else we're likely to freeze to the spot …."

"Not tonight Dom, it's a balmy 48 degrees out there right now …."

"Call that balmy! Maybe if you're an Eskimo …. Me, I'm from California, and these old bones prefer something a little closer to 80 or 90 degrees …."

"Dom, it was only 53 degrees when we left Alaska …." Alex chuckled.

"Yeah, I know …. Couldn't you hear these old bones creaking every time I moved …." He grumbled. "How soon before we hit the mountains?"

"Bloody hell ….. I hope you don't mean that literally, Dominic …." She heard him groan as she punched in a request for the information he wanted from the navigation systems. "The Cherskiy Mountain Range …."

"That's the ones …."

"Our rendezvous co ordinates put us in the foothills, Dominic …." He could hear the frown in her voice now. "What are you worrying about, even Mr Magoo would see those coming …."

"What's our ETA?"

"Approximately fifteen minutes …." She told him matter of factly. "What are you thinking?"

"That if we get company, we might just have to go over those mountains to get back over the ocean …."

"Ok …. The highest point is Peak Pobeda, which is 3,147 meters high …. The area is barely inhabited, the odd mining community…. Just a few cottages scattered around the hills …. so that should make spotting our people easy enough …. Not so easy for us to put down if we get into trouble …."

"Then lets not …."

"I'm with you on that one, Dominic, no argument from me!"

"What's our ETA now?"

"Twelve minutes …." She sighed softly. "One good thing Dom, it's so remote down there, you'd have to know what you were looking for …. Less chance of a routine patrol picking them up …. No nosy locals to point the Red Army in their direction …." She assured and he was grateful to her. "They'll probably be too busy guarding their gold anyway …."

"I hope you're right kid …. Ok …. Well …. Ready or not kiddo, here goes nothing!"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_**Friday 20 July, 1984,**_

_**Foothills of the Cherksiy Mountain Range, Far Eastern Russia,**_

_**Midnight, Local Time.**_

Stringfellow Hawke thought he was dreaming again, as the familiar sound woke him from another distressing hallucination driven nightmare, but the redheaded doctor and her companion seemed to be agitated with his slowness to respond to their request that he 'haul ass' out of the truck.

As they heaved up the heavy canvass that covered the back of the truck, the darkness was overwhelming, but then he heard it again ….

Sounding remarkably and eerily like Airwolf ….

Then there was a blinding light and the noise was deafening, the downdraft from the main rotor buffeting him like a gale force wind, as strong hands were suddenly pulling him out of the back of the truck and circling him in a firm embrace.

"String …. Thank God …." Dominic Santini's familiar, soothing voice pervaded the fog that had descended around Hawke's brain during his slumbers. "Thank God …. It's good to see ya, son …. Soon have ya home now, kid …." Dominic's voice reassured him all the time, as his strong arms took most of his weight and forced him to walk toward Airwolf ….

"Dom?"

"Yeah, it's me …. Thought you'd be glad to see a friendly face after all this time …."

"Is that really you, Dom …."

"No dope, its Ronald Reagan come to rescue you in person, by way of a thank you for all that you have done for the Nation …." Dominic snapped sarcastically.

"Yeah, it's you, Dom …." Hawke found himself grinning like an idiot. "He still can't have our Lady back …. At least not yet …."

"Will you move your skinny butt just a little quicker …." Santini panted. "Or do I have to throw you over my shoulder …."

"Is that …."

"The Lady …."

"Airwolf …."

"Yeah …. Not much gets by you these days, does it …. C'mon will ya …." Santini was now trying to drag him toward where Airwolf sat, main rotor whipping up a storm of leaves and dead branches all around her, idling in a clearing ….

Dammit, yes it was ….

_**Airwolf …. **_

He wasn't dreaming after all ….

The most beautiful sight Hawke had ever seen in his life ….

"Wait …." He managed breathlessly, despite the fact that they had barely taken half a dozen steps. He pushed Dominic away from him and weakly turned around to find his rescuers.

"Thank you …."

"You're welcome …. now get the hell out of here …." Yana Petrova grinned at him, then suddenly rushed forward, waving a flimsy manila folder. "Almost forgot …. Nearly let you go without this …."

"What is it?"

"Your medical notes …. They'll need them when you get back …. And a little souvenir …. Your official Russian Death Certificate." She chuckled at the pained look on his face.

"If you ever get home …. Look me up." Santini took the flimsy file from her with an anxious look on his face, and briefly letting Hawke go, pulled open the front of his flight suit and stuffed the file inside.

"Sure thing. Should be easy to find a guy with a name like Stringfellow Hawke."

"Archangel will know where to find me …. Thank you, Yana …."

"Get out of town!" But she was blushing wildly now and Mischa Ivanov was rushing to her side now, his hand outstretched to Hawke.

"Here …." Yana grew serious then as she turned her attention to the older, heavy set man holding tightly onto Stringfellow Hawke, with the fierce protection of a loving father, and watching the proceedings with interest and concern.

"You had better take this too …." She handed over a small package wrapped in white tissue and Santini frowned at her. "It's a sample of the drug they have been using on him …. The people at the other end might find it useful …." He nodded then and carefully slipped the small package into the pocket of his flight suit.

"If you've got any sense, you won't plan your next vacation here, Hawke …." Mischa Ivanov came forward now, shouting over the noise of Airwolf's engines and the wind being whipped up around them, wringing Hawke's hand enthusiastically. "So we won't be disappointed, if you can't make it to the wedding …." The grin grew wider and Hawke found himself chuckling.

"Maybe you two will make it to mine …." He pulled Mischa Ivanov close in a bear hug, pounding him jovially on the back, then drew away, blinking away tears which had nothing to do with the draft which was still buffeting him.

"Thanks guys …. I owe you so much …."

"The only thing you owe us is a long and happy life, with that woman you love …. Make what you can of it, Hawke …." This, from Yana Petrova now.

"Come on, son …. Time to go home." Santini coaxed now, applying slightly more pressure to the young man's waist to encourage him to move.

"Home …." Hawke echoed, but his mind was screaming just one word.

_**Alex.**_

"Yeah …. Sure thing, Dom …."

Stringfellow Hawke allowed Dominic Santini to take most of his weight as they almost ran toward where Airwolf sat, her main rotor idling gently, her lights illuminating the way ahead for them, and as they drew closer, someone popped the back door, and in a few minutes, Stringfellow Hawke found himself being bundled into the rear engineering compartment, expecting to find Michael Coldsmith Briggs III sitting in the engineers seat.

"Alex?" He could hardly believe his eyes as he found her strong arms around him, hauling him inside, and then embracing him with all the love and relief that she was feeling, tears streaming down her ashen face, as she buried her nose into his shoulder and hung onto him for dear life, as Dominic Santini closed the door on them.

"Yes …. It's me, darling. You're safe now …. Oh God, I love you so much …."

"I love you too …." He managed at last. "But what are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing here …." She giggled then, finally drawing away from him to reach behind her seat to retrieve the flight suit she had brought along for him and the spare helmet, just in case they needed to go off cabin oxygen at altitude. "You'd better put these on …." She advised. "And don't ask me to look the other way. Modesty be damned …. I'm not letting you out of my sight ever again, do you hear me, Stringfellow Hawke …."

He leaned forward very carefully and silenced her with a long, drugging kiss which left them both breathless and weak.

"I think I'm gonna need some help with these …." He grinned coyly then at the flight suit and Alex threw her arms around him once more before beginning to assist him to get into the warmer clothing.

"What's the hold up back there …." Dominic Santini's face appeared up fron, a huge grin splitting his face now, knowing exactly what was happening in the rear engineering cabin, after all, he wasn't too old to remember that heady feeling of amour.

"Ah, knock it off you two …." He chided with a chuckle, watching the pair of young lovers as they again gave into their need to kiss each other tenderly …. passionately.

"You're foggin' up the windows here …. Alex, honey, you're supposed to be putting clothes on him, not taking them off!"

"Spoil sport."

"Enough already …. Sorry to bust up the welcome home party, but I wanna get us the hell out of here." Santini grew serious then.

"Then what are you waiting for …."

"Geez …."

Alex heard the pilot's door close behind him and then in the next instant she heard the increased whine of the main rotor as Airwolf built up speed and momentum before rising effortlessly and agilely from the ground.

"We're going home, my love …." She reached out to caress Hawke's beloved, bruised face with shaking, cold fingers, her eyes taking in his dishevelled appearance and somewhat confused expression.

"Home." He echoed. "Alex …." His beautiful deep blue eyes bored into her, and she knew what he was thinking.

"It'll be ok, String …." She assured.

"But …"

"No buts, love …. I'm in this for the long haul …." She laid her hand gently against his cheek then. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know …. This could be some weird dream for all I know …."

"No love, it's real enough. Do you need anything?" He shook his head then and she nodded in relief. "Buckle up, String …. This is where things could get a little interesting …."

"Alex …." This, from Dominic Santini now. "If you can tear yourself away from lover boy, just for a minute …."

"I hear ya, Dom …." She turned her attention to the computer screens around her, aware as she did so of the concerned looks being cast in her direction by the man that she loved.

She wanted to reassure him ….

But she couldn't.

She knew the risks ….

Just as he did ….

Despite his confusion, and obvious distraction.

"Alex!" Dominic Santini's voice snapped her back to reality and she quickly turned her attention to the information scrolling up the screens around her.

"Scopes are clear, Dom …."

"You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure …."

"Too easy …."

"You think so?"

"I know it, honey …. Sneaky bastards …. They must have something up there sleeves …. Keep your eyes peeled …."

"There's nothing, Dom …. Oh bloody hell …." Her tone of voice quickly changed. "I spoke too soon …."

"Company?"

"Company …. Bogies, Angels 35 on our six, twenty miles and closing …. Fast …."

"Dammit …. I knew it …. The MiGs again?" He demanded to know, but she could not immediately answer him, as she had to wait for the computer to confirm the identity of the aircraft closing in on them at speed. "Alex!"

"Ok, Dominic, keep your knickers on!" She punched in commands on the miniature keyboard and after what seemed like an eternity, but which in reality, took less than a heartbeat, confirmation that the aircraft were indeed MiGs flashed up on the screen. "We're in the heart of Mother bloody Russia, what else could they be? B52's? Oh crap …."

"I take it you mean 'yes, Dominic, it's the MiGs again …."

"Yes Dom …. It's the MiGs again …."

"How many."

"Oh just a dozen or so …."

"Oh crap …." He echoed her sentiment. "Gimme turbos!"

"Turbos."

"How soon before we're out of Russian airspace?"

"Ten minutes."

"Ah crap …."

"Bogies, closing on our six, Angels 30, ten miles and closing …."

"Use a Hellfire …." This came from Stringfellow Hawke who was having trouble following the conversation because of his inability to concentrate properly. Fatigue and the residue of the drug GKP clouding his usually sharp mind.

"No can do, String …."

"Bogies at Angels 25 on our six, seven miles and closing …. They'll have us in their sights any second, Dom …." Alex advised in a calm voice.

"Use the Hellfire …." This again, from Hawke, who could not understand why Dominic hadn't already called for the weapons systems to be put on line.

"Can't." Santini mumbled succinctly.

"Why not? Oh God … they didn't make you come out here without weapons again, did they Dom?" There was a look of horror on Hawke's face now.

"No, we got weapons …. We just can't use 'em."

"What?"

"The precious Committee issued an order that says we can't fire on our Red friends, until we are out of Russian airspace …. Alex, how long before intercept?"

"Two minutes, Dom …. They're almost on top of us now …."

"Terrific …."

"Oh bugger …."

"What! What!!"

"Incoming missile …. Two of 'em coming right up our tailpipe!"

"Pop a Sunburst!" Hawke ordered.

"Missile acquired!" Alex advised.

"Can't do that either, son …. Strict orders not to engage the enemy …. Better hold on back there, this could be a close one …."

Dominic Santini yanked back on the stick and gave Airwolf her head, pulling her up in an almost vertical climb, as the nuclear tipped enemy missile sailed by beneath, then exploded harmlessly in a clump of jagged rocks on the mountain side below.

He immediately yanked back on the stick and turned her on her head, fearing that another missile would reacquire them as its target, using the heat source of their turbos.

"Where's the other one?"

"Coming up right behind us, Dominic …."

This time Santini pointed the nose down and allowed Airwolf to dive at a steep angle, engines screaming as she cut through the air ….

Only to pull her up again quickly just sixty feet from the deck and yanked on the stick to send her back up to fifteen thousand feet so fast it almost made their noses bleed.

"How far to the ocean, Alex …."

"Two minutes …."

"Damn …."

"Here comes another one …."

"Crap …."

"One minute …. I'm opening the gun ports, Dom …. And priming a Bullpup …. All systems on line and hot!" She told him emphatically.

"Atta girl! Tell me the minute we're in the clear."

"You got it! Now Dom, _**Now**_!"

Santini wasted no time and as soon as the targeting computer had the first MiG in his sights, he fired off a Hellfire and a Bullpup and the MiG disintegrated in a ball of flame ten seconds later, a Sunburst followed tempting the missile away from its original target to explode harmlessly in open air, as Santini lined up to shoot down another MiG, then another, popping Sunbursts intermittently to deal with the missiles coming at them from every which way.

"Dom …. Three minutes before we're in neutral airspace …. You got three, eight of them have turned around and are heading back the way they came, but there's one more still on our tail …."

"There's always one gotta be a hero …. Gotcha!"

"Still one missile on the loose out there, Dom …."

"Pop a Sunburst …."

"Last one …." She warned.

"Really?"

"Yeah …. Sunburst away …." Alex watched her scope very carefully and experienced a moment of dread as she realised that the missile had not acquired the Phosphorous Sunburst and was still pursuing Airwolf.

"Alex …."

"Shit …."

"What! What!"

"Nothing happened, Dom …. It must have been a dud …."

"What?"

"The damned missile is still on our tail …."

"Dammit …. What we got left?" Alex quickly scanned the weapons systems status board and her heart almost stopped dead in her chest.

"Nothing. We used everything …."

"Everything …." Dom was incredulous.

"Chain guns …. You've still got chain guns ... But you can't shoot that thing out of the sky, Dominic …."

"Oh God …."

"It's getting closer, Dominic, you've got to do _**something**_!"

"Like what!"

"_**Climb**_!"

"_**No**_!" This, a defiant wail from Stringfellow Hawke. "No Dom, you can't …. Alex …. Tell him …"

"Climb, Dominic …. There's nothing else for it …. Put her on the ceiling and maybe the cold will kill the missiles engines, or it will run out of fuel before it can do any damage …. It's an air to air missile not an Intercontinental …. ICBM …. Maybe the altitude will set it off out of harm's way, but you've got to climb, Dominic …. _**Right now**_!"

"No, Dominic …. You can't …." There was such desperation in Hawke's voice then that it stilled Santini's hand on the button that would engage the turbos for a power climb.

"I don't see I have any other choice, son …."

"You don't understand, Dom …. Alex …." He turned imploring eyes on the woman that he loved then, only to see a look of resignation and acceptance on her lovely face.

"Then give me another option, String …." Santini demanded.

"There's nothing else for it, String …. It'll be ok …." Alex reassured him in a gentle voice.

"I know we've never done it before …." Santini's voice was edged with hesitation then.

"Dammit Dominic, there's no time for debate …. _**Do it**_ …. Put her on the roof …. Do it …. Now!"

"But, Alex …."

"Do it, Dominic …. Remember our deal? Whatever we have to do to survive, no matter what!" She reminded him in a voice that was completely devoid of emotion. "Just do it, Dominic …. Dammit …. Before we get our asses singed! _**Do it!**_" Alex beseeched and threw the lever to give him access to turbos before turning to String and giving him a hard glare.

"Don't make this about me …." She hissed at him, through her teeth.

"But the altitude …. It could kill you." He protested, lurching forward in his seat to try to grab the controls in the seat in front of him, only to find her strong hands pulling him back, her angry face glaring at him, only inches from his own, as she shoved him roughly back into his seat.

"Dammit, will you sit still, we've got enough to think about right now …."

"What's going on back there, dammit, somebody talk to me!"

"Now listen to me, and listen good …." Alex Beecham fixed Hawke with her hardest, coldest stare, her fingers still wound up in the collar of his flight suit, and despite the seriousness of their present predicament, he knew that she had never looked lovelier, and that he had never loved her more than he did at that moment ….

"If we can't shake that bloody missile, String, we're all as good as dead …." She reasoned. "I _**know**_ what you are thinking …." She dropped her voice then, her words meant only for him. "…. but I knew what might happen getting into this String, and here I am …. With no regrets …. Please don't make _**my**_ life more important than anyone else's that you love …."

"String …." Santini hollered, swinging Airwolf first this way, and then that, still trying to dodge the missile, concerned that Hawke's protests about what Alex was suggesting had something to do with his doubts that Airwolf would be able to tolerate the rigours of such a manoeuvre.

"We're _**all**_ here as _**equals**_, String …." Her dark eyes bored into him then. "To live, or die together, as equals …."

Confused and terrified out his mind because he knew that whatever decision he made he would have to live with for the rest of his life, Stringfellow Hawke looked frantically from Alex Beecham to Dominic Santini and then back to Alex Beecham.

_**Was this some sick hallucination?**_

_**Some test?**_

Alexandra Beecham smiled softly at him, then reached out and pulled him roughly into the circle of her arms, squeezing him reassuring, with all the love that she felt for him, and she certainly felt real enough in his arms, warm and soft and familiar ….

Then she put him away from her, so that he could see her face, her eyes shining now with the love that she felt for him, and unshed tears as she nodded to him ….

Her willingness to sacrifice herself so that he and Dominic might live ….

It was the right thing to do.

It was the _**only**_ thing to do ….

If they were going to give themselves any chance to survive.

"String!" Santini demanded one more time, his heart in his mouth as he again swung Airwolf out of the path of the missile, and narrowly avoiding making contact with a rugged mountain top …. only to have the missile latch on to their energy signature once more and follow them with even more dogged determination. "I need an answer, son …. _**Now**_!"

"Do it, Dominic …. _**Do it .…**_" Hawke sobbed, falling back against his chair in submission and acceptance. "Gently though. Dom …. Don't stall her out …." He advised then in a voice devoid of emotion.

"You got it …."

Santini eased up on the stick and hit the turbos at the same time, putting Airwolf in to an almost vertical power climb.

"Alex call out that altitude for me …. And put your damned helmet on …. You too, String …." The anxiety in Santini's voice reminded Hawke of the danger of cabin decompression at such an altitude and that if that happened and he didn't have his helmet on, he would suffocate.

"Forty thousand …. Fifty thousand …. Fifty five thousand …. Sixty …." Alex called, watching out of the corner of her eye as Hawke struggled to put on his helmet, letting out a sigh of relief when he finally pulled it down over his head.

"Does he have that damned helmet on yet …."

"Yes, Dominic …."

"Ok …. Where the hell is that missile …." Santini demanded.

"Still on our tail, but falling back …. I think it's working, Dominic …." Alex told him quickly.

"Altitude?"

"Seventy thousand feet …. Ah she blows!" Alex shrieked as the missile disappeared from her screen and bright light momentarily illuminated the night beyond Santini's window.

"We're at seventy five thousand now, Dom …. Seventy nine thousand, five hundred! …."

"It's gone?"

"Yeah, Dom …. It's gone …." She assured.

Santini had eased back on the stick needing both hands to control the shaking of the console, when Alex Beecham called out their altitude at seventy thousand feet, and Airwolf slowed enough for him to level her out before they hit eighty thousand feet, the atmospheric lid.

"Every one ok, back there?"

"You betcha, Dominic …. Wow, that was some ride!" Alex giggled euphorically, somewhat hysterically Santini could not help thinking to himself, but all he got from Hawke was a weak:

"Yeah Dom …."

"That was a close one …. Too close …."

"But we pulled it off, Dominic …."

"This time."

"This time was all we needed …. If you think I'm coming back for a repeat performance, you can think again …."

"You criticising my flying now?"

"It's marginally better than your driving …." She countered with a grin.

Stringfellow Hawke sat back in his seat and listened to the banter going back and forth, waiting for his heartbeat to steady and his stomach to stop roiling ….

Neither of these things caused by the sudden climb to the outer limits of the Earth's atmosphere, but because of his morbid fear that the sudden change in altitude would cause the aneurism in Alex's brain to explode, killing the woman that he loved instantly, and there would be nothing that he could do about it ….

Her laughter was like music to his ears ….

Soothing him.

Calming him.

She was ok.

_**She was ok ….**_

_**They were all ok ….**_

_**Everything was going to be ok ….**_

_**They'd done it …. **_

_**By the skin on their teeth …. **_

_**But they had done it!**_

"I think I'd better take her down a little now, honey, I think the air's a little too thin up here for you …. Making you far too crazy …." He heard Dominic quip and then felt the slight dip of the nose as Santini eased Airwolf forward and down, slowly ….

_**That's right Dom …. Not too fast ….**_ He thought to himself, suddenly feeling more weary than he had ever felt in his life.

"How are you doing?" Alex was suddenly beside him, her soft, melodic voice cooing into his ear through his helmet.

"I'm ok …." He assured, giving her a weak smile.

"Sure, and I'm the Queen of Sheba …." She chuckled.

"Glad to meet you, Your Majesty …." He forced himself to grin then.

"Do you need anything?"

"About six months uninterrupted sleep."

"Oh …." She gave him a crestfallen look.

"But I'll settle for a hug."

"Your wish is my command …. We're back down at forty thousand feet, so I guess we can dispense with this for the time being …." And she helped him to remove his helmet before winding her arms tightly around him and crushing his frail body to her own warm one.

"I love you." She told him as she planted her lips firmly against his own.

"I love you too …." He murmured against her lips, then allowed himself to be overcome by the sheer joy he now felt at finally having her in his arms once more.

"I want you to promise me that you will _**never**_ do anything this crazy again …. That you will never put your life in danger to save mine …." He gave her a stern look when they parted to take a breath at last.

"No can do." She drew away from him then and he could see the defiance in her beautiful dark eyes. "I thought we'd already talked about this …. No wrapping me up in cotton wool …. Remember?"

"This is different, Alex …. It's completely crazy …."

"Is having a baby completely crazy too?" He gave her a look that robbed her of breath ….

A hunger she had not seen in his eyes before.

"No love, I'm not pregnant …." She told him sadly and closed her eyes briefly so that she would not see the disappointment in his eyes.

"But …. If the doctors tell us that it would be too dangerous, are you going to put your foot down about that too. I want a baby …. _**Your**_ baby …. And I don't give a damn if it's dangerous or not …. It's my life …. Remember …."

"I know that, love …. I'm not trying to wrap you up in cotton wool … I just don't want you to do anything that might shorten it …. We've been robbed of so much time already because of things we couldn't control …."

"I don't want to live in fear for fifty years String, denying myself all the good things in life." She told him defiantly. "Sometimes the risks are worth taking …. Sometimes you just have to follow your heart …. I love you …. That's all that matters."

"I love you too …. Dear God, I love you so much …. That's _**why**_ I don't want to lose you …."

"Let's not have this conversation right now …." She gave him another bone crunching hug then. "You're tired and I'm all wound up …. We'll have the rest of our lives to debate this …. Right now you need to get some rest. You look awful." She reached out with still shaking fingers to push a stray strand of his hair from his forehead.

"Gee thanks …. I've felt better. I guess I've probably looked better too." His fingers drifted up to his bruised face and he found himself frowning at Alex's grinning face. "What? What did I say?"

"I've seen you …. Or at least someone who looked remarkably _**like**_ you, looking much, much worse …." He continued to frown at her and she patted his hand then still smiling at him. "It's a long story …." She told him gently. "Are you in pain?"

"No …. I ache all over, but it's bearable …. I actually feel a little better now I'm warmer …. I just wish I could get my head to clear …. Everything is so muddled and jumbled …. I'm still not sure that I haven't just dreamed all of this …. For all I know I'm still in that Russian cell block and all of this is just a figment of my imagination …."

"Not even you have enough imagination to conjure this up, love …" She leaned in then and pressed sweet, warm lips to his in the most tender of kisses and he knew that she was right. Never in his wildest dreams could he have conjured up the effect her nearness, the sight, the taste, the smell of her, could have on his body.

Before he could stop himself, he pulled her into the circle of his arms, burying his head in her chest and was suddenly overwhelmed by emotion, his frail body shuddering with the force of his sobs, as he wept into her welcoming embrace and allowed her to soothe him with soft meaningless words, her gentle hands stroking his hair, his back, his arms, until at last, totally spent, he allowed her to settle him back in his chair, holding his hand as he briefly fought the need to succumb to sleep ….

Until at last he finally gave in, closing his eyes and listening to the light banter that passed between Alex and Dominic Santini as they prepared for their rendezvous with the USAF refuelling tanker that Archangel had arranged to top up Airwolf's fuel reserves, just enough to get them back to California.

He dosed, fitfully for some time, rousing long enough to catch snatches of conversation between Alex and Dominic as they refuelled and then set off on the last leg of their journey, felt her take his hand, plant a kiss on his rough cheek and murmur softly into his ear. "I love you, darling …."

His only regret, before finally sinking deeper into blessed, peaceful slumber was that he didn't even have the strength to return the squeeze of her hand and tell her in return that he loved her too ….

Realising just before sleep claimed him that he hadn't told her his plans for their future ….

Hadn't made it clear to her that he wanted to make her his wife ….

His one consolation ….

He would have the rest of their lives together to tell her ….

_**Show her**_ ….

Just how much he loved her and even as he slept, his lips curved into a slow, sweet smile of contentment.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

_**Knightsbridge – Headquarters of The Firm.**_

_**Saturday 21st July, 1984- 04.35 am**_

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III and Marella marched out onto the rooftop landing pad on the top of the main building at Knightsbridge to greet Dominic Santini as he strode over toward them wearing the soppiest grin Archangel had ever seen on the older man's rumpled old face.

They greeted each other with outstretched hands and Dominic gave Marella a brief hug before handing her the medical file and the vial wrapped in crumpled white tissue paper, that the female agent from Russia, had handed to him.

"Well, you did it …." Archangel yelled at him over the sound of Airwolf's engines. "Goddammit, you did it!"

"Yeah …. We did it …. Had to use every trick in the book, and learn a few new ones into the bargain, but yeah …. We did it …." Santini's attention was briefly drawn to the medical orderlies clad in white, pulling a gurney out onto the pad and moving with purpose toward Airwolf, accompanied by Marella. "Who said you can't teach an old combat pilot new tricks, huh?"

"How is he?" Archangel motioned with his head toward Airwolf.

"Alive. Pretty good, actually …. Better than we thought ….. Amazingly calm and rational …. Frail, physically …. I've never seen him look so weak …. Fragile …. Emotionally, I mean …. The drugs I guess …. Slept most of the way back …."

"They will take him straight down to the emergency suite …. The doctors are waiting for him." Archangel assured, then noticed, out of the corner of his good eye, a commotion occurring just outside Airwolf's open rear cabin door.

"What the …. Something's wrong …." He frowned at Santini. "I thought you said he was ok …."

"He was …. Calm …. Weak and confused, and hardly able to keep his eyes open …. But he wasn't violent or unreasonable …. Alex was wonderful with him …. Reassuring him, calming him …." Santini assured, turning around now to watch the commotion taking place on the helipad.

"Maybe he's dreaming …. Said he was having trouble telling reality from the dreams …."

"No, Dominic …. This is something else …."

Santini frowned as he watched the colour suddenly drain from Archangel's face, and then felt his blood run cold in his veins, as the other man turned to look at him.

"Alex …." They said together and turned as one, both running toward Airwolf, arriving just as the orderlies were bodily lifting a struggling Stringfellow Hawke out of the rear compartment, lashing out, kicking and fighting against them, even as his body was convulsed in sobs, his fingers refusing to release their grip on another human hand ….

Alexandra Beecham's hand ….

"Sweet Jesus …." Dominic Santini groaned as he watched his young friend being forced down onto the gurney, restrained with thick straps and rushed away from Airwolf, toward the main elevator. "What the hell was that all about …."

He turned to address Archangel, only to find the man, clad from head to toe in white, leaning inside Airwolf's rear compartment and reaching out to take Alexandra Beecham's hand ….

"Hey Alex, you ok, honey …. Did he hurt you …." Santini asked in confusion. "He don't mean nothing by it, love …. He don't hardly know who he is or where he is …." His voice trailed away as he watched the government agent's shoulder's sag.

Archangel withdrew from the rear engineering cabin with a look on his face that turned Dominic Santini's heart to stone in his chest.

"What? _**What**_!" He demanded, seeing the pain etched into Archangel's face and tears well up in his good eye, which were most definitely not caused by the draft made by Airwolf's main rotor as she idled on the helipad.

"What the hell happened up there, Dominic?" Archangel addressed the older man in a strange, tight voice.

"We had a little excitement, but nothing that we couldn't handle …."

"You'd better tell me …." Archangel turned then to find Marella and another team of white uniformed orderlies rushing out toward them with another gurney ….

She must have managed to get something coherent out of Hawke on the way down to the medical facility and organised the second gurney.

He could see the worry and the fear etched into her pretty face and wished that he could reassure her ….

"Come inside, Dominic …."

"I gotta see to the Lady …."

"She'll be just fine …."

"What is it, Michael …."

"We can't talk here …."

"Tell me, Michael …. I don't know what the hell is going on here!"

"Alex …."

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III voice cracked then and he suddenly found himself being bundled unceremoniously out of the way by the advancing orderlies, unable to continue as he watched the medical orderlies reaching in to carefully remove Alex's helmet and pull down the front opening of her flight suit to seek out a heart beat, nobody noticing as they did so that a small gold chain with a St Christopher medallion slipped from around her throat and landed soundlessly on the carpet at her feet ….

They stayed inside the rear cabin for several minutes, with Archangel and Santini watching in open mouthed, shocked, silence, until at last they gently lifted out Alexandra Beecham's limp, lifeless body and placed it carefully on the gurney before making a more sedate exit across the helipad toward the main elevator.

"Michael …." Santini finally found his voice, his confusion and shock evident in his rumpled old face ….

The same face that had so recently been wearing a look of pure joy and elation at the successful completion of his rescue mission in to foreign territory ….

Archangel had no words for him.

There was nothing that he could say.

He hung his head, unable to look Santini in the eye.

"No …." Realisation suddenly dawned on Santini's face then. "No …." He repeated in incredulity. "Oh no …. _**No ….**_ I thought she was just sleeping …. They looked so cute, holding hands like that …. No …. It can't be …. It _**can't **_…. No, dammit …. _**How can that be**_ …. She was just talking to me a minute ago when we came into land …. Dammit, no …."

Santini looked like he had been winded …. punched in the guts, and Archangel could empathise with him …. Feeling pretty much that way himself ….

"They're going to need us …. Both of us …." Archangel remarked without looking at Santini. "See to the Lady, Dominic …. And then I'll send Marella to escort you to the medical facility …. We'll need to debrief you later …." Archangel intoned in a dead voice and before Dominic Santini could ask any more questions, limped slowly and painfully away from the other man, cursing the fickle Fate that could reunite these two people ….

Only to snatch away their happiness once more.

This time …. Perhaps permanently ….

_**Christ, life sucked some times ….**_

And he was beginning to understand how Stringfellow Hawke could come to the conclusion that he was jinxed, as far as loving was concerned ….

_**It wasn't fair ….**_

How the hell could they have gotten through that damned mission in one piece ….

Only for _**this**_ to happen ….

_**Couldn't you have let them have just a little more time together? **_

He railed silently at a God he no longer believed in, as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the medical facility on the fourth floor.

_**You sick, cruel sonofabitch ….**_

_**It might have been better if you'd let him die ….**_

_**He'll never get over this ….**_

_**Never be the same again ….**_

And then, in the middle of this silent, blasphemous diatribe aimed at his Maker, Archangel recalled the envelopes that Alexandra Beecham had left with him, and felt a cold hand grasp at his heart and squeeze it, as he realised that he was going to have to read what she had wanted him to do on her behalf ….

And so was Stringfellow Hawke ….

_**Be my Guardian Angel …. One last time …. **_

He heard her voice clearly in his mind then, startling him for a moment, and then taking a long, deep, calming breath and reining in his emotions before the elevator car ground to a halt on the fourth floor, Archangel made Alexandra Beecham a solemn, silent, heartfelt promise ….

_**I will, my Sleeping Beauty …. **_

_**I promise …. **_

_**Your wish is my command …. **_

_**So sleep easy now, dear child ….**_

_**You have nothing else to fear ….**_

_**Oh Alex ….**_

_**Sweet Alex ….**_

_**You should have had more time ….**_

_**It didn't have to end this way ….**_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

_**Saturday 21**__**st**__** July, 1984 – 9.00pm.**_

_**Knightsbridge, Headquarters of The Firm.**_

_**Medical Facility**__**.**_

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III and Marella stepped outside the stark hospital room, closed the door gently on the softly beeping machinery within and walked slowly down the narrow white corridor with heavy hearts ….

He noticing the shock and sorrow in the way her shoulders and head were dropped ….

She noticing that his movements were slow and somewhat measured, his limp more pronounced and his face grey.

They came to the corner, and as they rounded it, Archangel suddenly felt Marella's small, warm hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

It took him a moment to pull his thoughts together and focus on her solemn face but when he did it was to find her looking down the sterile, cold corridor.

He followed her gaze and found Dominic Santini, seated in one of those awful old metal frame chairs, outside the room allocated to Stringfellow Hawke. He was bent forward, head in his hands and shoulders shaking violently as his grief and shock would no longer be contained.

Archangel's heart went out to him.

_**Poor Dominic ….**_

It was suddenly obvious that this whole business had pushed him almost to the limit of his endurance ….

"Give him a minute …." Marella whispered in a soft voice close to his ear, however, some sixth sense must have alerted Dominic to the fact that he was no longer alone and he straightened up in the chair slowly, dashing away the tears that were flowing freely down his rough old cheeks, noticing, as he did so, out of the corner of his eye, the two of them standing at the end of the corridor, looking awkward and out of place.

"Do you want me to do this?" Marella asked Archangel gently, her dark eyes big and sad in her pale face.

"No …." Archangel sighed deeply. "Best if I do it …." He looked briefly down the corridor towards Santini, then back to Marella, giving her a sympathetic look. "She was …. _**Is**_ …." He struggled with his words, his usual eloquence lost to him for the moment, and she smiled softly in understanding, although tears were welling in her own eyes again.

"She _**is**_ my friend and I love her too ….. But I can be more cold and clinical about it …. Had more experience at it …. That's what is needed here …. The cold hand of reason and a cold hearted son of a bitch like me to deliver it …." He sighed deeply, feeling moisture prick at his own eyes.

Marella knew what he was trying to say and nodded softly.

She of all people knew his true feelings right at that moment, but she understood, as did he, that sentiment and sympathy at this moment would only make things harder all around.

"Then, if you don't need me, Sir …." Her voice trailed away then, and he shook his head gently.

He knew that she wanted to get back to Alex Beecham ….

And he didn't want to hold her up.

They had only stepped outside to allow the nursing staff to take care of necessary housekeeping, checking the equipment and replacing fluids that were being fed into Alex by intravenous drip.

It would be good to have someone with Alex ….

Someone to watch over her ….

Someone who cared for her.

At least until Hawke was up to it ….

He knew how close the two women had once been and that they had begun to rekindle that friendship in more recent days ….

Marella would be someone who had Alex's best interests at heart ….

But also someone who knew what Archangel had in mind when he had left orders that had somewhat mystified the medical staff.

Fresh tears were glistening in her eyes as she gave his shoulder another gentle, reassuring squeeze and then turned on her heel and walked slowly and silently back down the corridor.

Dominic Santini let out a long, ragged sigh, as Archangel limped slowly down the corridor toward him, and taking a deep breath rose slowly and a little unsteadily to his feet.

"Dominic …."

"Michael …."

The two men greeted each other in low, flat voices, Santini still wrestling with his emotions.

He looked like a man twice his age, shrunken and bent under the weight of the world on his shoulders ….

Events of recent days had taken their toll on him, and Archangel wondered if he should arrange for Dominic to be checked over by one of their staff doctors ….

He could pass it off as being included in the accommodation that he had already organised, so that the older man could remain close to Hawke in the early days of his recuperation.

"How is he?"

"Not much better than the other guy …." Santini dropped his head briefly. "Just more talkative …." He forced a ghost of a smile to touch his lips.

Archangel smiled gently too.

_**At least the old guy hadn't lost his sense of humour ….**_

_**That**_ more than anything indicated to Archangel that Dominic Santini would come through this ok.

It would take time ….

But he would make it in the end.

They hadn't had much time to debrief Gypsy and Minstrel, but Archangel had gotten a brief summary from the physician who had undertaken Hawke's initial examination when they had brought him in. Gypsy had kept meticulous notes about the treatments and medications that she had used on her patient during their escape across Russia, and the staff at Knightsbridge had found it invaluable in the first few minutes, when they had been trying to assess Hawke's condition.

It wasn't good ….

But, it could also have been a lot worse.

In the few days between his extrication from the Russian military base in Siberia and his retrieval from Russian soil, by Santini and Alex Beecham, in Airwolf, only a few scant hours ago, Hawke had been taken care of by Gypsy and she had nursed him through the roughest part of his body's de-toxing from the drug, GKP, that the Russians had been pumping into him for the best part of a month.

She had done an excellent job under exceptionally difficult circumstances …. Fearing at one point that after weeks of sleep depravation, starvation and dehydration his body was simply too weak to survive the ordeal ….

However, survived he had, and according to the admitting physician, he would continue to get stronger and more cognisant and aware, as they replaced the fluids he had lost over that month of incarceration, and built up his strength and stamina with healthy food and plenty of sleep and bed rest.

It was a miracle that he was alive at all.

Even more of a miracle, that he had survived it all, with his mind in tact.

"He keeps asking for Alex …."

Fresh tears welled in Santini's eyes then and he again dropped his head briefly.

"Is it true?" His voice, already very low and rough with emotion cracked then and he was forced to turn away for a moment to try to compose himself once more.

Archangel forced himself to ignore the older man's emotional condition.

It was understandable.

He had been through a lot in the last few days, not all of it he fully understood ….

Most of it he had just taken on faith ….

Out of love ….

But it wasn't helping the government agent to keep his own composure, in the face of such open grief, and maintain the cold, unemotional front that he needed to face the young man ….

To get through the coming minutes.

When the older man finally turned back to look at him, Archangel nodded confirmation gently, and he again saw the grief in the older man's face, as he visibly paled once more.

"What have you told him?" Archangel asked softly.

"Nothing …." Dominic let out a ragged breath, close to breaking down again. "What can I tell him …. Hell, I can't …. I …. I can't do it …. I can't do that to him …. Again …. I can't watch him go through that again …. _**I can't **_…."

He concluded with a ragged sob, and this time the look in Santini's eyes almost broke Archangel's heart.

Torn between relief that the young man was home, safe and relatively sound …. And shock, anger and despair that the woman he loved had not made it to the end of the mission ….

"I don't know _**what**_ to tell him, Michael …. I don't understand it myself …." He confessed.

"Does he remember anything? Anything at all?" Archangel probed. Dominic Santini shrugged.

"He's still very confused …. Not sure what he remembers and what he dreamed …. What was real and what was because of the drugs …." He pointed out, letting out a shaking breath and swaying slightly with fatigue and shock.

"Let's sit down, Dominic …." Archangel invited, suddenly anxious that the old man was making himself sick with grief and shock, and that his legs might give way beneath him at any moment. "Please, Dominic …. Sit …." He added when he thought that older man might object.

He lightly touched Santini's arm, guiding him back down into the metal framed chair, then limping slowly and carefully around him, took the seat beside him. It was hard, uncomfortable and too low, and he grimaced as his game leg protested at the awkward position it suddenly found its self in.

"Let me tell him, Dominic …." Archangel offered softly.

"No …. It should be me …." Santini protested quickly.

"I think you've been through enough, Dominic …. And, I think he will take it better from me …. I'm such an emotionless, cold hearted old bastard …." He gave Santini a self depreciating smile then.

"It will be easier all around, if it's me he blames …. Me he freezes out …. Wants to punch …. If that's what he needs …." Archangel pointed out reasonably then. "He's going to need you for support, Dominic, and the two of you don't need that kind of strain on your relationship right now …."

He reasoned gently, trying not to allow Santini to see how much he was dreading the prospect of facing Hawke with this news ….

Just how heavy with grief, his own heart was ….

After all, despite what he had just said, he wasn't made of stone …

Dominic Santini sighed deeply but he was nodding his head now.

He knew Hawke very well ….

They both did ….

He was going to react in one of two ways ….

Shut down completely, disappear deep inside him self, and cover himself in guilt and blame ….

Or he was going to want to break someone's head ….

Dominic Santini nodded his consent and his appreciation to the other man.

"How much can you tell me, Michael …."Santini asked now, drawing in a long, slow breath. "How can I help him, if I don't really understand …." His voice trailed away, but his eyes implored Archangel to enlighten him.

"All you really need to know is that they loved each other …."

"_**I know that**_ …. But …. It's not enough …."

"Just how much do you know?"

"From him …. Not a whole helluva lot, Michael …." Santini sighed raggedly. "Bits, I picked up …. from things she …." He faltered briefly and drew in a ragged breath. "Stuff she said …. She kinda let slip that they knew each other before …."

"All right, Dominic …. I guess you've earned the right to know …." Archangel let out a deep sigh too then, and sat back in the chair, hoping to find a more comfortable position, but the pain in his leg did not abate.

"First of all, you do understand that Alex is the girl that has had Hawke all doe eyed and lovelorn these past few weeks, don't you?" Santini nodded. He had worked that much out for himself, again from things that Alex had said.

"Well …. But you're right, they did know each other …. Before ….." Archangel let out a soft sigh and continued.

"It began several years ago …. When Hawke was first working on the Airwolf project …. He met a very smart, very engaging, very charming, very young and very innocent girl, called Natasha Banks …." The smile that touched his lips now, if only briefly, was genuinely warm, as he recalled the girl he too had met, all those years ago.

"They began as work colleagues, Tasha was responsible for programming Airwolf's on board computers …. And for teaching Hawke everything that she knew about those systems …. She was also responsible for inputting flight data in the simulator, testing his skills as a pilot and Airwolf's design parameters." He explained slowly, watching as Dominic Santini began to take in and digest the information.

"Yeah …. I remember now, she told me that …."

"They developed a lot of respect for each other's skills as pilots …. She went solo at fifteen …." He explained and Santini nodded in understanding. Hawke too, had taken his first solo flight at fifteen, although he would have done it sooner if Santini had been able to find someone to bribe to test him out ….

"And gradually, over the months, friendship developed …. Actually …." Archangel paused for a moment and grew thoughtful. "I think they fell in love, even way back then, but you know Hawke and his determination not to get too close to anyone …. I guess he thought she was a little young …. and he was way too old and serious for her …." A ghost of a smile touched his lips then.

"She told me that too …." Santini recalled now.

"One fly in the ointment, however, was Moffett …. Dr Charles Moffett …. You remember him, no doubt …." Santini's nod was almost imperceptible. "He had his eye on Alex …. I mean Tasha, as she was then …. And I guess I don't have to spell it out for you, do I, Dominic …. Let's just say that it wasn't the kind of attention that Tasha appreciated …. Or Hawke, for that matter …."

"She didn't tell me _**that**_ …"

"But …." Archangel let out a deep sigh then, trying to hide his exasperation. "Moffett was her sponsor in this country …. Actually, he was her official guardian on the project, as he was an old friend of her parents and her Godfather …. When he realised that she and Hawke were getting romantically involved …. Innocent though it was at that time …. Moffett lost it. Literally. His jealousy got the better of him and he tried to rape her …. One night in the lab …. But, then his anger got the better of him and lust turned into the most vicious and violent attack …. He almost killed her …."

"Bastard …." Was there no end to the man's depravity, Santini thought, recalling the despicable way he had treated Gabrielle in Libya ….

_**No wonder Alex had kept that piece of information to herself ….**_

"Her head injuries were severe, Dominic, hours of brain surgery relieved the pressure and removed the immediate threat of blood clots, but Tasha was in a coma for six months after the attack …. And it left her with a permanent weakness, the blood vessels in her brain …. an aneurism …. and temporal lobe epilepsy."

Understanding began to dawn in Santini's rheumy blue/grey eyes as they grew wider.

"Oh my God …. Knowing _**that **_…. She still went along with this craziness…." Santini marvelled, and for him, several things were suddenly beginning to make sense ….

That stuff between Alex and String, in Airwolf on the way back ….

The need to gain altitude that had so scared String ….

And Alex's insistence that he just _**do**_ it ….

_**Or else they would all be dead ….**_

"Yes …. Knowing _**that,**_ Dominic .…"Archangel confirmed on another ragged sigh. "Anyway …. It became necessary, for her safety and Hawke's, that Natasha Banks die …. That Moffett be allowed to believe that he had gotten away with her murder …. At least it stopped him from actively looking for Tasha …." Archangel continued where he had left off. "And that meant that she could be safe …."

"Hawke had no idea what had happened to her …. She simply disappeared …. And then, of course, he walked off the project …. No longer able to take Moffett's attempts to undermine our confidence in him …. And when he did, he walked out of Moffett's …. and my sphere of influence."

There was suddenly a look of genuine regret on Archangel's face, and Dominic Santini suddenly began to realise just how much the other man admired and respected Hawke for his flying skills …. His tenacity …. loyalty …. patriotism ….

And his integrity.

"It turned out not to be such a bad thing …." Archangel admitted, somewhat ruefully. "Moffet settled down to work, and the project moved on …. Hawke kept his head down and got on with living his life …."

"In the meantime, we …. The Firm …. took care of Natasha Banks …. And when she finally woke from the coma, we made her an offer …. The Firm would set up Tasha in a new life …. Give her a new identity …. And so, Alexandra Beecham was born …. And in accepting that deal, Dominic …. She walked away from everything that was precious in her life …. Including Hawke …. Until a few months ago, when she and String ran into each other …. by accident …."

"That day at the school …." Santini said with a little more confidence then, recalling what Alex had said about seeing Hawke step out of the Army Huey, looking so handsome and so hurt and angry and confused to find her there ….

"Yes …. And the rest you know …."

"Why? Why Michael …. Why did she do it?"

"Because she loved him …."

"Enough to risk _**dying**_ …." He choked on the word, his mind refusing to believe that the young woman who lay unconscious in another room on the same floor, somewhere close by, could really be …. gone.

"Yes Dominic …. Enough to risk dying …. _**For him ….**_ She loved him _**that**_ much …. No greater love hath any man …. Or woman …. Than to lay down his or her life for another …. She knew the risks …. But to Alex, they were acceptable …."

"You know what this is going to do to …. Him …."

"It's different this time, Dominic …."

"How is it different, Michael …. Another woman he loves is dead …. He's going to think it's all _**his **_fault …. That he's to blame …. That he's still jinxed …. That he …. Killed her …."

"No, Dominic …. No this time. This time he _**knows**_ it is different …. Alex went out of her way to tell him about her …. Problem …. He knew that she lived with the possibility of this happening every day …. She told him that if anything did happen to her, he wasn't to blame himself and wallow in guilt, because it was inevitable and there was nothing that he could do about it."

"That doesn't mean that he won't do it anyway …. Grief does strange things to people …. I know …. I've been there before …. Seen what it did to him …."

"He'll want to respect her wishes, Dominic …. It's the only thing that will make the sacrifice she made worthwhile to him."

"I hope you're right, Michael ..."

"She told him everything, Dominic …. She wanted him to know …. So that they could make the best of every day, together …. And so that if anything did happen to her, he wouldn't beat himself up about it for the rest of his life. She didn't want that. She wanted him to go on living after she had gone, celebrating her life, not constantly mourning it."

"I know she told him about the epilepsy …. He talked to me about it, after the weekend they spent together at the cabin …. She told me about it too …. Wanted me to know, before we started off on this craziness …. Give me a chance to back out gracefully …."

Santini let out a ragged sigh and hung his head briefly once more.

"He seemed to have made up his mind that it didn't make any difference to how he felt about her …. So I guess he had come to terms with the rest of it too …."

"We'll just have to wait and see …. But I am sure that he will soon realise that he has nothing to reproach himself about …. Alex was a mature, strong minded young woman, and she was very sure in her own mind about what she wanted from him …. And she made sure that he would be left with no doubts …."

Archangel rose stiffly then from his chair, grimacing as the pain shot up his leg, and he leaned heavily against his cane for a moment as he centred his body weight and waited for the pain to subside.

"And we'll be here to make sure he does exactly what she wanted …."

"Michael …." Archangel saw the appeal in Santini's blue/grey eyes as he looked up at him then.

"You want me to be gentle with him? That's _**your**_ job, not mine …. I'll do what needs to be done, Dominic …."

"And leave me to mop up the pieces …." Santini sighed.

"Somehow I don't think _**that's**_ the kind of role that Hawke would cast me in …. From you, he'll accept it …. From me …." He shrugged. "I'm the cold, heartless, emotionless bastard, remember …."

"I don't envy you …."

"Mmmmm ….." And with that Archangel limped slowly toward the door. "Don't

go away …."

"I'm not going anywhere …." Santini assured and sat back in his chair trying to get comfortable on the hard seat.

The two men shared a knowing look, and then Archangel knocked gently on the door and opened it slowly, taking a long deep breath as he prepared to face Stringfellow Hawke …. charged with one of the hardest jobs he had ever had to do.

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III allowed the door to close softly behind him before taking a couple of soft steps deeper into the room.

Stringfellow Hawke, looking small and pale and very frail indeed, lay quietly in the middle of the narrow hospital cot, eyes closed, face bruised and drawn, hair, unkempt and longer than Archangel had ever seen him wear it before, and chin still covered in a thick layer of dark bluish stubble.

Archangel had never seen the younger man look so vulnerable and so weak before and he felt his heart constrict in his chest.

He limped slowly toward the bed, and Hawke opened his eyes, struggling to bring his vision into focus momentarily and then he frowned when he recognised his visitor.

"Michael?"

"Hello, old friend …." Archangel limped closer to the head of the bed so that Hawke did not have to strain to see him.

"Where's Alex? Why won't they let me see Alex?" Hawke began to get agitated, wriggling in the bed, expending energy he didn't have in trying to sit up.

"Easy …." Archangel stilled him with a firm hand to his shoulder.

Hawke dragged his gaze up to settle on Archangel's face, his eyes, what he could see of the irises, a much deeper blue than Archangel recalled, pupils big and black almost obliterating the irises, dilated from the mixture of drugs still in his system and more recently, the sedative they had been forced to give to him to calm him enough to get him settled in his bed. "Easy, my friend …."

"Alex …. I want to see Alex …."

"All in good time …."

Hawke sank back against his pillows, closing his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again they were shimmering with unshed tears.

He swallowed the huge lump in his throat and struggled once again to focus his gaze on Archangel.

"She's …. Gone …." Hawke spoke the words on a soft, flat voice. "I remember now …. At least I _**think**_ I remember …. She's gone, isn't she, Michael …."

"Yes, Hawke …." Archangel confirmed softly in a calm voice.

He could not help but marvel at Hawke's choice of words.

_**Gone.**_

Not _**dead.**_

_**Gone.**_

But his choice was very apt.

Alexandra Beecham's body still functioned, but everything that had made her the person they had all known and loved was indeed gone ….

Her essence ….

Her spirit ….

Snuffed out when the blood vessels in her brain had finally given way ….

Stringfellow Hawke let out an agonised sob and slowly curled himself up tightly into the foetal position in the centre of the bed, jamming his chin as tightly as he could into his chest and drawing up his knees as he began to keen like an animal ….

"I thought I had dreamed it …." He choked out. "_**Hoped**_ I had dreamed it …. Oh God, Alex …. _**Alex ….**_" He moaned in total anguish.

Archangel, trying desperately not to give in to his own need to weep, laid a gentle, reassuring hand on his back and waited, as Hawke rocked himself back and forth, as the tears and the sobs continued to rack his frail body ….

And then, gradually, Hawke stopped sobbing and his body began to relax and uncurl and Archangel removed his supportive hand, watching and waiting until at last the younger man was lying flat on his back in the centre of the bed, gaze fixed, unseeingly, on a spot on the ceiling overhead.

After several minutes of silence, Archangel carefully sat down on the edge of the bed beside the younger man, and keeping his expression neutral and his voice low and calm and clinical, told Hawke what had happened ….

How they had found Alex, collapsed in the engineering section of Airwolf, as they had been bringing him into the building, and that although the doctors had done the very best that they could, had taken her straight into surgery to see if they could repair the damage ….

It had been too late ….

Her body was being kept alive by machines ….

But her brain was dead ….

Of course, they would carry out brain stem tests later, to be absolutely sure that there was nothing more that could be done for her ….

But, they had not held out much hope that there would be any improvement in her current condition.

Archangel saw no point in giving Hawke even the smallest hope.

He could think of nothing crueller.

"Did she …." Hawke choked on the word, but Archangel knew what he wanted to know ….

It was the same question he had asked the younger man after learning about Gabrielle's death.

"Did she suffer?" Hawke nodded, fresh tears rolling down his face, although he was quiet now.

"No …."

When he had asked the doctors the very same question, earlier in the day, Archangel had been told that she would have experienced a terrible headache for some time before the deterioration in her condition, but any pain at the end, excruciating to begin with, would not have lasted very long ….

The end, when it came, swift and peaceful, just like falling asleep ….

"No, Hawke …. It would have been just like falling asleep …." He assured, patting the younger man's hand.

"Then, I guess her time was up …."

"Yes …." Archangel was surprised by his philosophical view, but was pleased that he had regained much of his composure now.

"Can I see her?"

"Of course …. But not yet …. You need to get your strength back …. Get back on your feet …. Doctor's orders …. Nothing is going to happen to Alex …. Until you are good and ready. I promise you that."

Hawke merely nodded silently, then settled back against his pillows and closed his eyes, tears coursing down his pale, bruised, rough, unshaven cheeks and Archangel took this as his cue to withdraw.

"Get some sleep …. If you can …." He patted the younger man's hand once more, not knowing what else to do to reach him. "I'll send Dominic in …. He's been very worried about you …. Be good to him, Hawke, this hasn't been easy on him …. It's good to have you back, my friend …."

"Take care of Alex for me …."

"I will. I promise." Archangel said solemnly, his gaze never wavering as Hawke stared at him with tear filled blue eyes. "Now …. _**You**_ promise _**me**_ something …. That you will do as the doctors tell you and get well …. I don't have so many friends that I can afford to lose Alex …. And you …. You have so much more life to live, so much more to give …. So much to offer …."

"You've been talking to Alex …."

"Yes …. And we both know that she's a very smart lady …. She knew the risks Hawke …. And she took them anyway …. She loved you very much …."

"And I loved her too …." Hawke choked out.

"Then honour her memory by doing what she asked of you …. Celebrate her life, not grieve your own life away …. Be strong and get well …. The choice is yours …. "

"Thank you, Michael …."

Archangel merely nodded then and limped painfully back toward the door, turning back before he reached out to open it, to find Hawke staring up at the ceiling, a faraway look on his face, and he could not help hoping that he was experiencing happy memories of the woman that he had loved.

Once outside, he and Dominic Santini spent a moment just looking at each other, the looks that passed between them speaking volumes and then the two men shook hands briefly and clapped each other on the back, then as Santini opened the door to Hawke's room and stepped inside, Michael Coldsmith Briggs III began to limp slowly back up the corridor, his ashen face awash with the tears he now felt able to cry, at the loss of a very special young woman from all of their lives.

_**Thursday 26**__**th**__** July 1984.**_

_**Knightsbridge Medical Facility.**_

_**Noon.**_

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III matched his stride to the slow shuffle of his companion, Stringfellow Hawke, as they made their way down the stark white hospital corridor. It suited him, as his leg had been giving him more trouble these past few days and he was relieved to not have to ask his younger companion to slow down to accommodate his limping gait.

Stringfellow Hawke, clad in pale blue pyjamas and a white terry cloth dressing gown, belted loosely at the waist, had insisted on walking the short distance down the corridor, despite the fact that he was barely strong enough to stand, and the doctors had told him that he should let an orderly take him in a wheelchair ….

Archangel had interceded on his behalf, pointing out that the man had a little pride and a little dignity, and that he had to do this ….

_**His way …. **_

If he was going to get through it at all.

The two men turned the corner and found Marella waiting for them, standing outside Alex Beecham's room and just for a moment, Hawke's step faltered and he had to stop and take a deep, steadying breath.

Archangel waited, silently, for him to regain his equilibrium, then again matched his slow, shuffling walk as they took one step after another toward their final destination.

As they came to a halt outside the hospital room, Marella greeted Hawke with a tender kiss to his now clean shaven cheek, tears swimming in her dark eyes as she drew away ….

Obviously still shaken by her own final visit to her young friend.

No words were spoken, but the look that passed between Hawke and Marella spoke volumes ….

His thanks for taking care of Alex in his absence ….

Their shared sorrow and mutual grief at what was about to happen ….

And a drawing of strength from each other to endure what must be done ….

And go on beyond it.

After giving Hawke's hand one final reassuring squeeze, Marella nodded to Archangel, and then turned on her heel and walked very slowly and with a great deal of dignity, back down the corridor from whence the two men had come, and Michael Coldsmith Briggs III reached out to push open the solid wooden door …..

The last barrier between Stringfellow Hawke and the woman that he loved ….

Stringfellow Hawke had never found it so difficult to move one foot in front of the other in his entire life ….

His legs felt rubbery ….

No substance to them ….

As weak, and uncontrollable as a toddler, taking its first uncertain steps ….

Surely the very first steps _**he**_ had taken in this world had not been this hard ….

His heart heavy ….

Blood rushing in his ears as his heart pounded rapidly ….

Nothing to do with the exertion the short walk had cost him ….

Unable to face what he must now do ….

What only _**he**_ could do for the woman that he loved ….

Everyone had been very kind ….

Very sympathetic ….

Very patient with him, as he slowly regained his wits and the reality of the situation began to sink in ….

Thanks to Archangel, the doctors had come to him and explained, in low, patient, sympathetic voices, that his wife ….

_**His wife ….**_

Alexandra Hawke ….

_**His wife …. **_

_**That**_ had been Michael's doing …. Hawke had soon realised, in one of his more lucid moments ….

Insisting that she be registered as Mrs Alexandra Hawke and that Stringfellow Hawke be put down as her sole next of kin ….

Thus ensuring that no decision about Alexandra's future could be made without his consent, and without consulting him first ….

For which Hawke would be eternally grateful ….

The doctors had come to him and explained in as clear and simple language as they could, that Alex was gone ….

That they could continue to keep her body alive with the ventilator, and continue to feed her intravenously ….

But, that all the tests they had done thus far, indicated that there was no higher brain activity and that once the machines were switched off, they did not believe that Alexandra would be able to breathe on her own.

Even then, it took him a while to understand that they were telling him that she was brain dead ….

Gone ….

And he would never again see that beautiful face light up in a smile ….

Or contort in to one of those crazy, zany faces she pulled when she was joking with him ….

Teasing him ….

Or to see those beautiful, smoky brown eyes of hers …. Shining with life …. Filled with all the love she felt for him ….

Never again to hear her laughter ….

Or to hear her sing ….

To feel the warm softness of her lips against his own ….

To feel her in the circle of his arms …. Her body pressed close to his own ….

In fact ….

All the wonderful things that he had clung to over the weeks of his captivity ….

All the things that had made him determined to live ….

To come home to her ….

And make her his wife ….

No matter what ….

Suddenly his legs would not move, shaking uncontrollably, as his mind balked at what he was expected to do, once inside the room beyond this damned door.

Archangel placed a reassuring hand on his elbow then, helping to steady him when he thought that his legs would collapse beneath him, and he forced his lungs to drag in much needed oxygen.

He had to be strong.

He had to face this ….

It was what Alex would have expected of him ….

That he be the one to take care of her ….

In her final moments on this earth ….

He hung his head briefly, trying to summon the courage and the strength that he needed to carry on, and then, using practically all the strength that he had left in his body, he moved one foot in front of the other and crossed the threshold into the room where Alexandra Beecham lay.

Archangel followed him inside the room, making slow progress toward the cot where Alex lay, quiet and still, head swathed in bandages, eyes closed, face peaceful, if a little pale, various machines hissing and beeping monotonously as they pumped oxygen and nutrients into her lifeless body and measured heart rate, temperature and blood pressure.

Already inside the room were a doctor and a nurse, monitoring the equipment, solemn faces regarding Hawke with sympathy as he made slow and painful progress to the bed.

Archangel nodded to the medical staff, indicating his appreciation of their patience, and watched as finally, Hawke took the last step to close the gap between himself and Alex, and without hesitation, reached out to take one of her slender, limp hands in his own.

Instantly tears welled up in his deep blue eyes and he swayed alarming.

"Alex …."

Archangel grabbed a chair and pushed it up close behind Hawke, just in case his legs gave out, but the young man regained himself and reached out with the other hand to stroke Alex's cool cheek with the tips of his fingers.

"Can I touch her?" He looked up sharply then, unsure if he had somehow broken some kind of taboo ….

"Of course …." Archangel assured softly from close beside him.

The tears came with a vengeance then, his head bowed and silent, rough sobs shaking his still frail body ….

Until at last, he began to climb up on the bed beside Alex ….

Startling the doctor on the other side of the room, but Archangel stilled the man with a hard look.

"Leave him be …. He can't hurt her …." He told the man bluntly, as he watched as Hawke gently gathered Alex Beecham into his arms and buried his face into her neck, rocking her gently back and forth as the tears and the sobs overwhelmed him.

Archangel found that he could not watch and turned away, hiding his own tears.

He had paid a visit to Alex on his own the night before, to say his own silent goodbyes, and it had been his intention to leave Hawke alone with Alex, once the machines were switched off.

Now, he was glad that he had been forced to stay …. Unsure that Hawke could cope with being alone with Alex ….

The medical staff on the other side of the room regarded him with desperate, awkward looks, but after a few moments, Hawke drew in long ragged, calming breaths, planting one final sweet, lingering, tender kiss on her lips before cradling her against his chest, and ashen face awash with tears, he looked up at Archangel and slowly nodded his consent for them to proceed ….

It was time.

Time, to switch off the machines.

Time to let her go.

Archangel glanced over at the doctor who understood the pointed look he was being given, and the man reached out and pressed a small button on the ventilator, cutting off the power that drove the machine and slowly it began to wind down, until at last the airbag deflated for the last time and the hissing sound stopped.

Stringfellow Hawke held tightly onto Alex, crushing her still warm and supple body close to his chest, willing her to take a breath on her own ….

But, as he watched her, and the doctor watched the trace on the heart monitor, it was obvious that her heart rate was getting slowly weaker ….

That she had not taken a breath ….

Hawke dragged his gaze back to Alex's face as the heart monitor let out a warning alarm and registered zero beats per minute and a flat line ….

And pulled her to him, pressing a hard kiss to her lips ….

"Goodbye, my love …." He whispered against her lips and continued to kiss her passionately.

Until the doctor reached out and silenced that machine too, and glanced up at the clock on the opposite wall ….

Needing to know the official time of death for the death certificate and her records ….

Hawke finally broke the kiss, his head dropping to rest against the crook of her neck and gave into fresh silent sobs.

After a few moments, Archangel reached out and gave Hawke's shoulder a squeeze.

Hawke lifted his head then and the look on his face almost tore Archangel's heart in two ….

However, Archangel still had one more thing to do ….

One more promise to fulfil ….

The last task that Alexandra Beecham had charged him with.

From the inside pocket of his jacket, Archangel produced a small package and showed it to Hawke.

"Alex asked me to give you this …. If things didn't go according to plan …." He said in a voice made rough with emotion, holding it out slowly to the other man, unable to hide the tremor of his hand as he did so.

Hawke took the package and regarded it with a mixture of suspicion and awe.

"Take you time, Hawke …. Stay as long as you need to …. I'll just be outside …."

Archangel and the medical staff left the room then, none of them able to watch as the young man again buried his face in to Alex Beecham's neck and gave into more tears ….

Leaving the room on silent feet and wearing solemn expressions, and once outside, Archangel thanked them for their indulgence and shook their hands, and noted, with a heavy heart, that even the young nurse was weeping as she and the doctor walked away.

Archangel sank down wearily into the hard metal framed chair positioned outside Alexandra's room and let out a long, ragged sigh. He did not know how long he would have to wait ….

It did not matter.

He was prepared to stay there all night ….

If that was what it took for Hawke to say his goodbyes to the woman that he loved.

As he prepared to wait it out, Archangel could not help feeling relieved that Dominic Santini had not been here to witness the proceedings. He had wanted to, but Hawke had told him that it was something that he had to do ….

Alone ….

However, the medical staff had insisted that Archangel be there ….

At least until they could pronounce life extinct ….

And he had had no choice but to go along with them ….

Despite the fact that he had thought it a very private and personal moment and he had not wanted to intrude ….

Archangel suspected that with his own emotions still very raw, Dominic would not have been able to cope with Hawke's grief ….

Still, it was better the young man get it out of his system now ….

While he had people around him who cared for him ….

Even if he wasn't aware of it ….

Stringfellow Hawke had no idea how long he wept, keeping Alex as close to him as he could, his mind filled with pictures of her happy, smiling face ….

However, at last, the sobs subsided and there were no more tears to cry, and after several minutes of just staring absently at the ceiling, still cradling Alex in his arms, he finally found the courage to look at the package that Archangel had given to him.

On the front, written in Alex's neat hand was his name, and as he fumbled to open it, a small cassette tape, inside a plastic box, tumbled out onto his lap.

Inside the envelope he found a couple of sheets of neatly folded paper, which when he opened them up with very unsteady hands, he discovered where covered in Alex's neat, bold handwriting.

_**My dearest, darling String ….**_

It began …. Dated, he noted, just a few days before she and Dominic had joined forces to come to Russia to rescue him ….

_**If you are reading this letter, then I guess I am dead ….**_

He continued to read, his heart in his mouth as he heard her, calm and in a warm, soft, steady voice, in his head, reading the words out to him …. ….

_**I don't know how …. Perhaps something went wrong with the rescue mission ….**_

_**Maybe I died of old age ….**_

_**But, I have a feeling it is the old enemy that finally claimed me.**_

_**I died …. Everyone does … **_

_**It is no-one's fault …. It is just my time.**_

Fresh tears welled up in his eyes as he continued to read, and he blinked them away quickly.

_**I knew what I was doing when I agreed to go along with Dominic …. **_

_**I knew the risks, my love ... **_

_**But what else could I do? **_

_**What was left of my life would have meant little to me without you in it ….**_

_**You needed me …. **_

_**You needed my help ….**_

_**It was a sacrifice I was willing to make …. **_

_**Because I love you ….**_

"I love you too …." A ragged sob was torn from him then.

_**If, I did not come back from the mission to rescue you …. **_

_**Always remember this, my darling … **_

_**I died at a time in my life when I had never been happier …. **_

_**When I loved and knew that I was loved in return …. **_

_**Every day I spent loving you was a blessing to me …. **_

_**And every day I knew that you loved me too, was the most precious gift you could ever have given to me.**_

_**Please do not blame yourself.**_

_**My death is not your fault.**_

_**Please do not mourn my death …. **_

_**Instead, celebrate my life …. **_

_**And above all, remember that you made me happy.**_

"Oh, Alex …. You made me happy too …."

_**My only regret is that we did not have more time ….**_

_**I love you, my darling, String …. **_

_**And I will always love you …. until the end of time …. **_

_**Don't you dare give up on living just because I'm not around any more …. **_

_**I'll be watching you …. **_

_**And if you don't pick up the pieces, and get on with living the rest of your life …. **_

_**I swear, I will kill you ….**_

Suddenly an image of her grinning at him, wagging her finger at him in warning, flashed before his eyes and for the briefest instant, he found himself actually smiling ….

_**I have written this letter because I did not want to leave you without saying goodbye ….**_

_**And I wanted to make sure that you knew that you did nothing wrong ….**_

_**I didn't want to just disappear from your life again ….**_

_**This time there is no new life …. **_

_**No new face …. **_

_**And no new name ….**_

_**The only way I would ever have changed my name again …. was if it were to become Mrs Stringfellow Hawke ….**_

Another heart wrenching sob was torn from his lips and he hung his head briefly, allowing the tears to cascade down his face ….

Then he raised his gaze back to the sheaf of paper in his hand and continued to read, the words blurred by his continuing tears.

_**I know, I should wait to be asked ….**_

Again he could hear her voice, filled with amusement …. See her face in his mind's eye, softened by a loving smile.

_**But I still haven't figured out yet if Stringfellow Hawke is the marrying kind ….**_

_**And now I will never know ….**_

_**In my heart, beloved, I am your wife …. **_

_**And you will always be the only man I have ever truly loved.**_

_**I have Michael's assurances that if the worst should happen …. Out of love and respect for both of us …. I will be treated as though I am your wife ….**_

_**I know that he will do it …. **_

_**Because he knows just how important it is to me ….**_

So _**that**_ had been her doing too.

She had wanted him to be the one to be with her at the end ….

She had wanted him to be the one to make the decision to turn off the machines ….

Because she trusted him to know that it was the right thing to do ….

And the right time to do it ….

So that he would be with her at the end, and she would pass with dignity and in peace ….

_**Now my love, I have three favours to ask of you …. and I know that I can trust you to do as I ask. **_

_**Firstly, it is my wish that you have my body cremated …. and that you make sure that half of my ashes are returned to my mother in England …. Please make sure that she knows that I never stopped loving her, or my father, and that it was my wish to have my ashes laid to rest beside my father ….**_

_**Secondly ….**_

_**It is my deepest desire that you take the enclosed cassette tape, and play it while you scatter the other half of my ashes over your lake …. **_

_**At sunset …. **_

_**From a chopper, so that I can soar with the eagle, carried on a thermal …. if only for a little while …. **_

_**That way I will always be close to you …. in the place you love most in the world …. The place where we were happy ….**_

_**And I want you to listen to the words …. Really listen, String …. They say much more clearly than I ever could what I was asking of you, and what is truly in my heart ….**_

_**And finally ….**_

_**Promise me …. **_

_**No recriminations …. **_

_**No guilt …. **_

_**Remember the love and the laughter …. **_

_**Remember me and smile …. **_

_**So long as you remember me, darling, I will never truly be gone … **_

_**You will carry me with you, in your heart, all the days of your life ….**_

_**I love you …. **_

_**And some day, I truly believe that we will meet again ….**_

_**So no goodbyes ….**_

_**Just Adieu, for now …. **_

_**And see ya on the flip side ….**_

_**Your loving Alex**_

_**Xxx**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**EPILOGUE.**_

_**Los Angeles, California.**_

_**Friday, 31**__**st**__** August, 1984 - Late Afternoon.**_

"You ready, son?" Dominic Santini asked in a soft voice, leaning in close to Stringfellow Hawke's ear as he spoke. The younger man was talking with his old Army buddy, Bob Rutherford, shaking his hand, as he made his hasty goodbyes to Hawke, needing to follow his extremely distraught wife, who had rushed out of the little church in floods of tears.

Hawke, clad in a dark grey jacket, black pants, and crisp white shirt with a narrow black neck tie, was wearing a solemn expression, his eyes hidden, having now slipped on his mirrored flying shades.

However, Dominic Santini could guess what he would find there.

Still ….

It was only natural to weep at funerals and memorial services ….

All part of the ritual of saying goodbye ….

Of letting go ….

At least the young man looked a little healthier these days, having gained back a little weight, but he still looked frail and Santini knew all too well how fragile was his emotional state.

However, he was proud to say that the young man had held it together pretty well.

If he was ever going to loose it .…

It would have been today ….

At Alex's memorial service ….

When all the people who had loved her in life, had joined him to pay homage to her in death.

The funeral ceremony a few weeks before had been a strictly private affair, just Hawke, Santini, Archangel, Marella …. Not even the Rutherfords had been in attendance then.

Hawke had then taken up Archangel's offer of use of the Firm's Leah jet to fly to London, England, where he had presented himself and one half of Alex's ashes to her astonished mother, Mrs Sandra Banks.

Archangel had made things a little easier for him, by calling ahead and explaining what he could to her ….

Praising Natasha as a heroine and a credit both to her family and her country ….

However, it had not been difficult to see that the woman was having a hard time coming to terms with the news that the daughter she had thought dead these past two and a half years, had actually been alive and well ….

Born again with a new life and a new identity ….

Forbidden to contact anyone from her old life, for the sake of her safety.

But had then recently died, in the service of her adopted country ….

A heroine ….

Stringfellow Hawke had found that he had been proud to continue to act as Alex's 'husband', able to talk honestly about her with pride and love and without guilt or shame ….

Reassuring Sandra Banks that it had not been her daughter's wish to severe contact, but that it had been a necessity ….

That she had had to die, so that Alex Beecham could live ….

And he had told her as much as he felt able, about Moffett's unhealthy interest in Natasha and that the people who had cared for her had only wanted to protect her from him.

A small lie ….

But, a necessary one ….

And, one that had gone a long way to reassuring Sandra Banks, and helping her to understand the circumstances that had robbed her of her dear daughter.

Hawke had gone out of his way to tell Sandra Banks what a wonderful human being Alex was, and how dearly she had been loved by her new family and friends ….

That her mother would have been proud of the woman that she had become, no matter what name she was living by.

When he had finally left her, Sandra Banks had taken his hand gently in her own and smiled at him through her tears, as she had told him that he was exactly the kind of man that she would have hoped her daughter would marry one day, and that she could see how deeply he had loved her ….

After his return to the States, Hawke had been very quiet and withdrawn, but he had continued with his daily routine, working in the hangar with Dominic, and the older man had just had to accept that Hawke was dealing with his grief in the one way he knew how.

Alone.

However, Santini did notice subtle differences this time ….

No angry outbursts ….

No locking himself away up at the cabin ….

No working long into the night so that he was so tired he would sleep dreamlessly ….

He was calm.

He was poised.

Yes …. He was sad ….

Those beautiful expressive blue eyes of his possessing a haunted quality, and this time when Santini found him staring off into space, the unshed tears glistening in those eyes had told him that the younger man's thoughts were not the happy day dreams he had had only a few short weeks before ….

Another subtle difference this time was that Hawke was also ready to talk about Alex and what she had meant to him.

Opening up to Santini ….

Instead of shutting him out.

Instead of bottling things up ….

Laughing with him over some happy memory …..

Weeping too ….

Lots of healthy, healing tears ….

Openly shared with the only other human being on the planet who would understand ….

Who could console him ….

Recalling the weeks he had spent in that cold, dark cell in Siberia, when all that had kept him alive were thoughts of Alex Beecham and the life they would have together when he was free at last ….

Startling the older man with the revelation that he had decided to ask Alex to become his wife ….

And that after his rescue, when they had been on their way home …. Alex had confided that she wanted a baby …. **His** baby ….

However ….

Life had to go on.

No matter how painful it might be for the young man.

Today was always going to be the most painful, Santini knew.

He and String had made the arrangements a few days ago, and now, the moment was almost upon them.

After the memorial service, they were going to drive out to the Lair, taking with them the small ornamental urn containing the remainder of Alex's ashes …. Which Hawke had in his jacket pocket, reluctant to let it out of his possession much less his sight today ….

And, with Archangel's blessing, Santini was going to fly Airwolf up to Eagle Lake ….

So that String could carry out Alex's final wishes.

Hawke and Santini had already spent half a day out at the Lair the week before, rigging up a tape cassette player into the intercom system, so that they could play Alex's tape through their helmets …. Somehow, Hawke had managed to resist the temptation of playing …. until the time was right.

All was ready ….

It was time.

"I'm sorry about Sophie …." Rutherford was still apologising. "She just can't accept that she's gone …."

"It's all right, Bob …. We all feel the same way …" Hawke reassured the other man, clapping him on the back. "Go take care of her …. And give her my love …."

"You take care, Hawke …." And with that Bob Rutherford turned and hurried away to catch up with his wife who was weeping softly into her handkerchief on the doorstep.

"String …." The young man momentarily lost in thought, Santini laid a gentle hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

"Yeah …." Hawke spoke in a gruff voice and then coughed softly to clear his throat.

"It's time, son …. If we don't make a move soon …. We'll miss the sunset …." Santini reminded the younger man awkwardly.

"I know, Dom …." Hawke's voice was still low and rough with emotion, possessing a deep, smoky quality, and Dominic Santini found himself wishing that he could see behind those mirrored shades to the blue eyes beneath.

"Look, String …. If you're not up to it …. We could do this another day …. There'll be other sunsets …."

"I'm all right, Dom …." Hawke assured in a low voice. "It has to be today …. While I still feel so …. Close to her …." He explained hoarsely and then took a steadying breath. "I'll just say goodbye to Marella and Michael …."

Stringfellow Hawke squared his shoulders and walked stiffly over to where the two agents from the Firm were standing quietly together, neither speaking, and Santini watched as they exchanged a few words and then parted.

Marella gave Hawke a swift hug and then a soft lingering kiss to the cheek and then Archangel offered the younger man a brief, stiff handshake, and a clap on the back, and then Hawke turned on his heel, military style and walked, back ramrod straight and head held high with dignity, back toward Dominic Santini, right hand resting lightly against the jacket pocket which contained the small ornamental urn holding exactly one half of Alexandra Beecham's ashes, protecting it as he walked briskly, so that they would not spill.

Hawke walked silently past Santini and climbed, without a word, into the passenger seat of the Santini Air jeep and waited, pale and solemn faced for the older man to slip in beside him and start the engine.

They made the journey out to the Lair mostly in silence, Dominic Santini not sure what to say to the younger man, not wanting to upset him or raise his hackles with frivolous small talk, and somehow, a story about the younger man's father's exploits in the war also seemed out of place.

They had done a lot of talking in the past few weeks.

About Alex.

About St John.

About Hawke's parents and the gratitude that Hawke felt for the way that Santini had stepped in and taken care of himself and St John ….

Especially himself.

About the things that had happened after Hawke's abduction by the Russians, and what Dominic Santini had had to endure before being assured by Alex Beecham that the man he had watched blow his brains out, was not **their** Stringfellow Hawke …. But an impostor ….

Santini had confided to Hawke about how Alex had been the one to know that there was something different about him ….

And about how she had volunteered to take the rear seat on the mission to bring him home.

They had talked long and deep into the night several times in the past few weeks.

But today, it seemed natural that they be quiet and solemn and thoughtful ….

However, it was Hawke himself who broke the silence, the unusual quiet from his companion unnerving and unsettling to him.

"Want to stay to dinner?" He asked Santini.

The question drew the older man's eyes from the rutted desert terrain, just briefly, and he could not help frowning.

"You sure?" Santini asked, before returning his eyes to the road ahead.

"I'm asking you, aren't I …."

"Sure …. Sure …." Santini could understand that the young man might not want to be alone on this one night.

"We can crack open one of those beers you brought a while back …. And give Alex a proper send off …."

"Ok …."

"I think she would have liked that, Dom …. The two of us, toasting her …."

"Ok …."

"You could even stay the weekend …. If you don't have any other plans …."

"Ok …."

"Stop saying ok, Dom …." Hawke sighed softly. "She wanted us to celebrate her life …." He reminded the older man. "I think she would approve of us sinking a couple of beers and remembering her …. Together …." He was silent for a moment, then turned back to Dominic Santini, and peeled off his flying shades.

Dominic Santini was granted his earlier wish and saw Hawke's beautiful, expressive blue eyes, filled with tears and the pain he was trying so desperately not to show.

It hit home to him again that he should have known that other man was not the **real** Stringfellow Hawke ….

Such cold, dead eyes ….

Flat, two dimensional, lifeless ….

Yet, it had been Alex Beecham who had seen the truth in those eyes, not him.

"The whole point of this, Dom …." Hawke continued in a low voice, throbbing with emotion. "Is that we celebrate her life …. That we remember her with love …. And that we rejoice and give thanks for the love, happiness, the laughter and the joy she gave to each of us …. And she did …. It was her gift …." He paused again, wrestling with his composure.

"I made her a promise …. If not in words, in my heart …. I promised that I would honour her wishes …. All of them …. I intend to fulfil that promise …. Because, I loved her …. Not because it's easy, but because it is the most difficult thing that I will ever have to do in this life, Dom …." He paused to take in a shuddering breath then.

"To go on without her …." He paused for a moment, then let out the breath on a deep sigh. "But …. I don't think I can do it alone …. I need someone to share the memories with …. I need **you** …." Hawke closed his eyes briefly and two fat tears rolled freely down the side of his handsome face.

When he opened his eyes again, his blue gaze was steady as he fixed it on Dominic Santini. "I heard tell …. a guy needs his father at times like this …. **That's** why I **need you** …."

Hawke turned away then and hastily donned his flying shades, knuckling away the dampness from his cheeks, leaving Dominic Santini completely speechless for one of the few times in his life, his heart pounding joyously in his chest as he realised that it was only the second time in the young man's life that he had alluded to the fact that he considered him to be a surrogate father.

They had lived their lives, day in day out, for the last twenty two years without the need to say it ….

The only other time the young man had given voice to his true feelings had been when Hawke had come back from Vietnam ….

Without St John ….

And he and Santini had gone out and gotten falling down drunk ….

Well, at least the young Hawke had, and he had collapsed in Santini's arms on the doorstep as they had staggered home in the small hours of the morning, and when Santini had caught him, before he hit the ground, he had drunkenly belched out a "Thanks Dad …." Before stumbling over the threshold and passing out on the couch.

This time the younger man was stone cold sober ….

Somehow it made it even more poignant and touching.

More heartfelt ….

"Ok …. So long as you don't expect me to just eat vegetables …."

"As if …. There's a steak with yours and Tet's names on it …. I'll be happy with an omelette …. Can't you give this thing a little more gas …. The sun is going down …." There was an anxious catch in his voice briefly.

"Relax …. Look …." Santini pointed to the dark patch in the side of a huge slab of rock …. The opening to the Lair, and guided the jeep toward it.

Once inside, Santini cut the engine and spent just a moment or two looking at the beautiful machine, illuminated in a pool of soft light in the centre of the cave.

It never failed to move him.

Her sleek, beautiful lines …. Her power …. Majesty ….

A magnificent feat of engineering ….

The last time he had been here, he had still been shell shocked …. Overwhelmed by the events of the preceding few hours …. Days ….

Now, as he regarded Airwolf, he recalled Alex Beecham's awed reaction to seeing her ….

Her dreams made real …. Substance ….

Not just schematics and blueprints on paper and computer screens in a lab ….

She had been as genuinely moved by the sight of the helicopter as Dominic was ….

Moved to tears, briefly, he recalled now ….

She had treated the magnificent machine as though it were alive ….

With love, and tenderness, and reverence ….

The same way Dominic Santini did too ….

And that had been one of the first things that had endeared that sweet young girl to Santini ….

That she thought of Airwolf as a lady too ….

She understood.

Unlike Hawke, who often poked fun at the way Santini felt about the aircraft.

Dominic Santini felt a lump rise in his throat now and swallowed hard to move it, and as he climbed slowly out of the jeep and prepared to change out of his church suit into his flight suit, he suddenly remembered the package that Alex had left on the workbench over in the corner of the cave where they stacked their supplies.

He walked over to the workbench and sought out the plainly wrapped package, noting the bold handwriting on the front, addressing the item to Stringfellow Hawke, strictly private and confidential ….

"Dom …." String came up behind him and draped his arm lightly around the older man's shoulder. "What is it?" He asked, following Santini's gaze to the parcel on the workbench as he loosened the knot of his necktie.

"I don't know …. It's addressed to you …. Alex left it for you …. The day we left for Alaska …." Santini explained and made to walk away, but Hawke stilled him with a squeeze to his shoulder, before reaching out to draw the package toward him.

It was oblong in shape, not large or bulky, and not very heavy either, when he lifted it to tear the plain brown paper it was wrapped in, but he was intrigued by the soft rattling noise it made whenever he moved it ….

With the paper removed, he found a small metal box, not unlike the box Dominic kept his petty cash in, back there in the office at Van Nuys, and he frowned, however, the frown faded to a look of sorrow as he spotted another, smaller box still concealed in the folds of the corner of the discarded wrapping paper.

Hawke recognised it as the box he had brought at the jewellery store, the one in which the St Christopher necklace he had given to Alex for her birthday had been packaged.

He reached out for it with shaking fingers and swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat as he opened the small box very carefully ….

Expecting to find the pretty little chain and medallion ….

However, Santini watched as a frown clouded Hawke's brow as he opened the small box and carefully extracted a tiny key dangling from a length of black cord and eyed it suspiciously.

After taking a steadying breath, Hawke took the key and placed it in the lock on the metal box, gave it one small, quarter turn, and heard the small lock disengage.

He gave Santini a furtive look as he gently lifted the lid of the box to reveal a neat row of thin, shiny computer disks and a small folded sheet of paper addressed to him.

He reached for the flimsy piece of paper and opened it carefully to find Alex's familiar, bold handwriting:

_**String, here is everything that you might need if our baby ever takes sick …. You will know what to do if that time ever comes …. I taught you well and you were the perfect student ….**_

_**Take very good care of them as they are the only complete set in existence …. **_

_**And take care of our baby too …. I am as much a part of her as you are …. **_

_**I love you …. Always ….**_

_**Alex.**_

"Are they what I think they are?" Dominic asked, regarding the set of shiny metal disks with interest.

"I guess …." Hawke sighed softly, clearing his throat with a soft cough. "A complete set of back up disks for all of Airwolf's computer systems …." He surmised.

"Are you sure they're compatible …." Santini ventured, although they looked like the genuine article to him …. They looked like the disks he had occasionally had to use to store data for the Firm when they had flown missions for Archangel.

"They came from Alex …." The look Hawke gave to Santini said all too clearly that he had no doubts about their authenticity. "But I guess we'll find out …. Some other time …."

He carefully closed the lid on the disks and turned the key in the lock before slipping the cord around his neck and pulling off his necktie.

"C'mon Dom …. We're losing the light …." He sighed softly and began to walk toward Airwolf, opening the cockpit door to pull out his flight suit.

Santini followed and pulled open the other door and took out his own flight suit.

As he watched the other man retrieve his flight suit from the seat, Santini suddenly noticed him stop, his gaze drawn to something in the rear section ….

And he could not help wondering if he were again seeing Alex Beecham sitting there, shouting out to Santini to gain height, so that the missile on their tail would either run out of fuel or the cold would kill it ….

Knowing even as she did so that she could be sealing her own fate ….

Signing her own death warrant ….

Just as String had known ….

Had tried to warn him …

However, he watched the younger man walk around the front of the chopper and open up the door to the rear section ….

Something had caught Hawke's eye ….

Something small and shiny ….

On the floor beside the seat in the engineering section ….

It was the St Christopher ….

Alex's birthday gift ….

He had wondered what had happened to it, when he had found that it was not amongst the personal items the hospital had returned to him when he had been discharged.

He reached in carefully and brought out the necklace, which twisted and turned and shimmered in the eerie green light inside Airwolf ….

He saw immediately that the fine chain had broken ….

Perhaps when they had been trying to revive Alex ….

Trying to get her out of the chopper ….

It would be a simple job to get it repaired ….

But until that time, Hawke carefully dropped it into the left breast pocket of his flight suit, close to his heart ….

And without comment, opened up the left door and climbed inside to wait while Dominic Santini finished dressing.

When both men were dressed, Santini climbed into the right seat and nodded his readiness to Hawke, who was occupying the less familiar left seat. Both donned their helmets, then Santini reached out to the switch over head to start the main rotor and within a few minutes they were ascending carefully out of the Lair into the pearlescent light of the desert sunset.

Santini plotted their course and guided Airwolf out of the desert scrub and rocks toward Eagle Lake.

Hawke sat in solemn silence beside him, eyes fixed firmly on the terrain ahead, feeling awkward in the unfamiliar seat, nothing to occupy his mind or his hands …. and remembering the last time he had travelled in Airwolf …. in the even less familiar environs of the rear engineering compartment, with Alex Beecham.

It suddenly occurred to him that maybe he had pulled the necklace from her, when he had been holding on to her in his desperate need to make her understand the decision she had made in advising Dominic to gain altitude ….

Maybe he had been the one to break its protective effects ….

No ….

He wouldn't think about that ….

It wasn't productive ….

It changed nothing ….

The aneurism had killed Alex ….

Not him.

"ETA, ten minutes …." Santini announced, breaking into his wayward thoughts. "Say, how about we put that tape on …."

Hawke reached into the pocket of his flight suit and pulled out the small cassette tape he had slipped in there before they had left the Lair, with, Santini noticed, slightly trembling fingers, and placed it carefully into the cassette player they had installed into the main console.

"I'll disconnect my helmet from the intercom …." Santini offered, not wanting to intrude on what he suspected, would be a very personal and private message from the woman who had so loved his young companion.

"It's all right, Dom …. I want you to hear it too …." String spoke in a deep, rough voice.

"Ok …." Dominic acquiesced, then added. "ETA, eight minutes …." He intoned but Hawke had already noticed the change in terrain beneath them ….

And felt the familiar rush of joy as he recognised his mountain lake home coming into view.

Recalling as he did so, the awed expression on Alex's face the first, and as it had turned out, only time, he had brought her up here ….

He gave the cassette tape one last gentle push into the jaws of the machine and waited for whatever Alex had planned to begin.

And remembered the letter that Alex had written to him, and her request that he _**really listen**_ to the words ….

And so he did …. closing his eyes and taking in a long, slow, deep breath ….

And suddenly his helmet was filled with the opening bars of a tune he did not recognise, and he had to cast his glance down to the cassette box which contained the list of songs on the tape.

Alexandra Beecham's bold, flowing hand neatly filled the top line of the liner notes for the tape as he carefully prised open the plastic box and read ….

_**All the love songs I wish I had had time to share with you …. Some to make you smile, some to make you sigh …. Some heart wrenching, stomach clenching, gut aching …. All with the same sentiment, String …. Just so you know …. So you will never forget …. **_

_**I love you**__ …._

The first tune on the play list, now being belted out in his helmet was by an English artist he had never heard of, called Dusty Springfield, and beside the song title, Alex had written:

"_**Remember the day you came back into my life …."**_

_**Oh Alex …..**_

_**How could I ever forget it ….**_

_**I came alive again that day ….**_

_**Thanks to you ….**_

As soon as he heard the first line, his heart began to beat faster, his mouth went dry and his palms began to sweat ….

_I don't know what it is  
That makes me love you so,  
I only know I never wanna let you go,  
'Cos you started something  
Oh, can't you see.  
That ever since we met  
You've had a hold on me,  
It happens to be true,  
I only want to be with you …._

_**Listen, my love ….**_

_**Listen ….**_

_**Believe ….**_

_**And accept ….**_

He could hear her lovely voice in his head, a sing song, laughing quality to it as she begged him to follow her on this wild ride of revelations about her true feelings for him ….

_**I will …. My love ….**_

_**I promise ….**_

_It doesn't matter where you go or what you do,  
I wanna spend each moment of the day with you,  
Oh, look what has happened with just one kiss,  
I never knew that I could be in love like this,  
It's crazy but it's true,  
I only want to be with you …._

He let the music swirl around his head, eyes closed, heart banging against his rib cage ….

Realising that she was already setting the tone for the rest of this experience ….

_You stopped and smiled at me  
Asked if I'd care to dance,  
I fell into your open arms,  
And I didn't stand a chance,  
_

_Now, listen, honey  
I just wanna be beside you everywhere,  
As long as we're together, honey  
I don't care,  
'Cos you started something  
Oh, can't you see,  
That ever since we met  
You've had a hold on me,  
No matter what you do,  
I only want to be with you ….  
_

It was a pretty melody, catchy, a jaunty beat to it ….

He liked it ….

And the lyrics ….

_**Oh God Alex ….**_

_**You sentimental old thing ….**_

_**I don't need a love song to tell me how much you cared ….**_

_**But I'll go along with it ….**_

_You stopped and smiled at me  
Asked me if I'd care to dance,  
I fell into your open arms  
And I didn't stand a chance …._

_  
Now hear this, honey  
I just wanna be beside you everywhere,  
As long as we're together, honey  
I don't care,  
'Cos you started something,  
Oh, can't you see,  
That ever since we met  
You've had a hold on me,  
No matter what you do,  
I only want to be with you,  
I said, all I, all I want to do,  
I only want to be with you.  
_

At last it was over and he drew in a shaky breath ….

However ….

Before he could form the question in his head ….

_**How much more of this was there ….**_

_**And how much more of it could he take ….**_

Before he had time to recover his wits, another song began, booming out and filling his helmet, and he had to lower his gaze quickly to check the play list to find out who this song was by ….

And discovered that it was by a group called _**ABBA**_.

A frown puckered briefly at his brow, and then his features relaxed.

_**Oh yes ….**_

He remembered now.

The Swedish group she had loved so much ….

And now a beautiful, rich female contralto voice was singing:

_Love me or leave me,  
make your choice but believe me,  
I love you,  
I do, I do, I do, I do, I do,  
I can't conceal it,  
don't you see, can't you feel it,  
don't you too?  
I do, I do, I do, I do, I do …._

Stringfellow Hawke listened in shocked silence. The song's lyrics hitting him like a physical blow to the guts ….

_**Oh Alex ….**_

_Oh, I've been dreaming through my lonely past,  
now I just made it, I found you at last,  
so come on now let's try it,  
I love you, can't deny it,  
'cos it's true,  
I do, I do, I do, I do, I do_

_  
Oh, no hard feelings between you and me,  
if we can't make it, but just wait and see,  
So come on now let's try it,  
I love you, can't deny it,  
'cos it's true,  
I do, I do, I do, I do, I do …._

Clearly she had wanted him to know that no matter what he had decided about their future together ….

It would change nothing for her ….

She would continue to love him ….

No matter what.

_**Oh God ….**_

_**Was the whole tape going to be like this ….**_

Tying his guts in knots and making his hands shake and his heart pound against his ribs ….

"Wow …." This came from Dominic Santini now. "Catchy little tunes …." He commented, drawing Hawke's wry gaze. "I guess you can't get any more positive and forthright than that, son …. She loved you …. _**She really loved you**_ …."

He smiled at his young friend, immediately getting the point behind the tape that Alex had made as her epitaph ….

Yet even as he smiled, he wondered if Hawke was emotionally strong enough to go through this ….

He noticed a hint of a smile as it touched the corners of Hawke's lips then and the younger man nodded almost imperceptibly in agreement.

"Yes …. She did …. She really did …. She knew just how to love me …. She _**understood**_ me …. Better than anyone …. Except, maybe you …. And she understood the way I needed to be loved …." He confessed raggedly.

Dominic Santini nodded in agreement, recalling vividly now the way Alex had talked about her feelings for Hawke, when they had been making their way to Russia ….

About how she had soon discovered how he needed to be loved …. And that he had pretty soon come to realise that she needed the same things from him too ….

That when they were together, the world had become a wonderful place, and everything had suddenly made sense ….

"And I loved her too, Dom …. Oh God …. I loved her …. More than either one of us ever knew …." Hawke added on another ragged sigh. "I miss her so much …." This, in a small, low voice now.

"I know you do, son …."

"But …. _**this**_ is _**so**_ like her …. That playful, zany sense of humour she had …. I can just imagine the smile she had on her face while she was making this tape …. I know she had fun doing it …. As well as shedding a bucket load of tears …. Happy tears …. She was amazing, wasn't she …."

"Yeah …. She was …."

"And she would want me to _**feel**_ all the things that she felt while she was putting this together …. And be happy too …."

"That's good, String …. Better to remember the tears of laughter than the sad tears …." Santini pointed out sagely.

"Oh I'm sure there'll be a few sad numbers on the tape …. She'd want me to feel _**everything**_ …. Wring out every last drop of emotion …." Hawke sighed and turned away then, to continue to listen to the poignant lyrics playing through his helmet.

_So love me or leave me,  
make your choice but believe me,  
I love you,  
I do, I do, I do, I do, I do ….  
I can't conceal it  
don't you see, can't you feel it  
don't you too?  
I do, I do, I do, I do, I do ….  
_

The song ended, leaving Stringfellow Hawke reeling from the power of the emotion in the lyrics ….

And their pertinence, to his relationship with Alex.

However, as Dominic Santini guided Airwolf over the wooded mountainside toward Eagle Lake, another song began to play ….

Another pretty, but to Stringfellow Hawke, unfamiliar tune, a slower number now, not quite so rock based …. was beginning in his helmet, lots of complicated piano notes in the introduction …. and briefly, Hawke glanced back down to the play list.

Barry Manilow ….

_**Oh no ….**_

He suddenly remembered how Alex had described him ….

Mr heart wrenching, stomach clenching, gut aching, himself ….

_**Gee, Alex ….**_

_**What are you trying to do me ….**_

_You remind me I live in a shell,  
Safe from the past,  
and doing' okay,  
but not very well.  
No jolts, no surprises,  
No crisis arises:  
My life goes along as it should,  
it's all very nice,  
but not very good._

Before he knew it, hot tears were welling up in his eyes and spilling over down on to his flushed cheeks ….

_And I'm Ready To Take A Chance Again,  
Ready to put my love on the line with you.  
Been living with nothing to show for it;  
You get what you get when you go for it,  
And I'm Ready To Take Chance Again with you.  
_

_**Oh Alex ….**_

_**Oh God …. **_

_**I felt the same way too ….**_

_**Thanks to you ….**_

_**Ready to let you into my life ….**_

_**My heart ….**_

_**To take a chance on love ….**_

_**And a bright and happy future ….**_

_**With you ….**_

_**Only you ….**_

_**I felt the same way too, sweetheart ….**_

_When she left me in all my despair,  
I just held on,  
My hopes were all gone.  
Then I found you there._

_And I'm Ready To Take A Chance Again,  
Ready to put my love on the line with you.  
Been living with nothing to show for it;  
You get what you get when you go for it,  
And I'm Ready To Take Chance Again, _

_Ready to put my love on the line with you,_

_Been living with nothing to show for it;  
You get what you get when you go for it,_

_And I'm Ready To Take A Chance Again,  
Ready To Take A Chance Again with you,  
With you.  
_

Dominic Santini cast a furtive glance sideways at his companion in the left seat and felt his heart constrict in his chest as he found the young man sitting there with his head bowed, shoulders shaking gently as he gave into his grief ….

Dominic almost reached out and stilled the music ….

Knowing that it was just too much for the younger man to bear ….

Dammit, it was tearing his own heart apart, and he hadn't felt anything near as deeply or as strongly for the girl ….

But ….

It had been Alex's last wish ….

And she had obviously chosen the selection of songs very carefully ….

So, even if _**he**_ wasn't exactly sure of what it was ….

Dominic felt sure that there was a purpose to all of this ….

That Alex had known _**exactly**_ what she had been doing ….

So he let the music play on and fixed his gaze on the closing shoreline of the lake.

Maybe this was as it should be ….

Her purpose, to get the younger man to give into his grief.

To encourage the tears to flow ….

And with them, the healing to begin.

She had known him so well ….

Known that despite honouring her promise, he would hold back some of his pain and grief, and that over time, it would begin to eat away at him ….

She hadn't wanted that for him ….

This was her way of making sure that he was completely cleansed ….

And healed ….

_**Oh yes ….**_

_**She really was an amazing lady ….**_

Once again his helmet was filling with music, this time, the soft, haunting strains of a 1940's ballad that he remembered well from his own youth, and the wonderfully melodious voice of Frank Sinatra began to fill his ears ….

And he found that he wanted to hear it all ….

Share it with Hawke, so that he would fully understand its impact on the younger man ….

_**And it was certainly having an impact ….**_ Dominic Santini sighed softly.

Immediately Hawke felt his eyes began to fill with fresh tears ….

_**Way to go Alex ….**_

_**Please don't do this to me ….**_

_Time after time, I tell myself that I'm,_

_So lucky to be loving you,_

_So lucky to be the one you run to see,_

_In the evening, when the day is through,_

_**Oh Alex …. **_

_**I was the lucky one …. **_

Hawke thought silently, his heart constricting in his chest as the meaning behind the words registered.

_I only know what I know, the passing years will show,_

_You've kept my love so young, so new,_

_And time after time, you'll hear me say that I'm,_

_So lucky to be loving you …._

As the haunting strains of an instrumental section of the song continued to fill his ears, Stringfellow Hawke pictured Alexandra Beecham's beautiful face in his mind's eye, a beautiful, contented smile on her face as he imagined slipping his arm around her waist and drawing her close in a wonderfully slow and seductive dance ….

He could feel her in his arms ….

_**Really feel her …. **_

Warm and soft and vibrant and alive ….

Pressing her body close to his, resting her cheek against his chest ….

Sighing contentedly as they swayed together, in time to the slow beat of the music ….

Hot tears burned in his eyes once more.

However, at the same time, a smile began to slowly curl at his lips.

She was right ….

So long as her image was _**this**_ clear ….

_**This focused …. **_

_**This tangible ….. **_

She would continue to live …. in his mind's eye ….

_**He would carry her with him always ….**_

_I only know what I know, the passing years will show,_

_You've kept my love so young, so new,_

_And time after time, you'll hear me say that I'm,_

_So lucky to be loving you ….._

As the last strains of the beautiful love song finished, Hawke opened his eyes, suddenly alerted to the change in Airwolf's velocity, as Dominic Santini came in over the lake at last, flew over the jetty close to the cabin and then circled out into the centre of the lake, where he found a place to hover.

And now another unfamiliar tune was beginning in his helmet, and briefly Hawke glanced down to the play list once more.

Barry Manilow ….

_**Oh no ….**_

_**Not him again ….**_

More from Mr heart wrenching, stomach clenching, gut aching himself ….

_**Gee, Alex ….**_

_**What are you trying to do me ….**_

However, the first line of the song instantly brought a smile to Hawke's lips, much to his amazement.

_Why don't we try a slow dance? _Mr Manilow sang passionately ….

_**How had she known that he his thoughts would take him back to that night ….**_

_**"Dance? Are you feeling ok?" She had grinned back. "You don't have a temperature do you? C'mon String, you know what an uncoordinated klutz I am …."**_

_It's all going by us to fast,  
Oh, why don't we try a slow dance,  
And maybe this moment will last,  
_

"_**I'm feeling kinda brave …."**_

"_**Did you bring your steel capped work boots with you …. Or maybe I should just ring the hospital and pre-book an X Ray slot for you …. And all those lovely broken toes you'll have …."**_

"_**That won't be necessary …. Not with what I have in mind …."**_

_All night long we've been dancing,  
Dancing too far away,  
All night long I've been waiting for them,  
To play a slow one,  
_

Hawke closed his eyes and remembered that night not so very long ago ….

_Why don't we try a slow dance,  
Before it all comes to a close,  
We'll see how it feels,  
And see where the feeling goes,  
Oh why don't we try a slow dance and then,  
Who knows,  
_

Picturing in his mind's eye, Alex's pretty lounge room, filled with the strains of I'll Be Seeing You (In All The Old familiar Place) ….

"_**I don't bite …." He had promised. "Even with broken toes …." He had chuckled, suddenly liking the coy look that had settled on her pretty face.**_

_**She had slowly walked around the couch and joined him in the centre of the small room, before an open fireplace that was there mainly for its decorative purposes, and caught her bottom lip between her teeth pensively.**_

_It's all goin' by us to fast,_

_Oh ohohoh why …….  
And maybe this moment will last ….  
_

"_**Relax …" He had coaxed. "You need to come a little closer …." He had invited. "Now …. This hand …." He had taken one hand, her left, and placed it gently on his right shoulder, her open fingers splayed against his back. "Goes here …. That's right …. And this hand …." He had captured her right hand and pressed soft, warm lips to her slender, delicate fingers, before taking her hand gently in his own. "Goes here …."**_

"_**Mmmm …. Yes …. It's coming back to me now …." She had smiled demurely then, and he knew that she was getting into the spirit of things with him …. Catching onto his mood …. **_

"_**So, this hand must go here …." She had taken his right hand and placed it gently on the curve of her left hip, his open fingers also splayed into the small of her back. "And this hand must go here …." She had captured his right hand and pressed a soft kiss into his work roughened palm before setting it down carefully on her left shoulder.**_

"_**You're a quick study …." He had chuckled softly, gazing into her warm sherry brown eyes, which had been dancing with amusement.**_

"_**Thank you, Mr Hawke …. You are not the first to have commented …." She had batted her eyes then and affected her best sultry, Southern Belle accent, which had almost been his undoing. **_

"_**So …. What next? Is this the bit where I toss you over my shoulder, then put my foot on your stomach and give a victory salute to the crowd, while the referee counts you out?"**_

_**Unable to stop himself, taken completely by surprise, Hawke had let out a loud guffaw, intrigued by the way her mind worked and her unique sense of humour, clearly able to see in his mind's eye, Alex standing over his prone body, fist raised to a cheering crowd and a look of pure glee on her beloved face.**_

_**He had quickly pulled himself together and fixed her with one of his no nonsense glares. **_

_**It had been obvious that she too was wrestling to keep a straight face, but she persisted and somehow managed to dredge up a look of pure, wide eyed innocence.**_

"_**No …." He had growled.**_

"_**No?"**_

"_**No …. Wires crossed, I think …. That's wrestling …. Not waltzing …." Although if he were absolutely honest with himself, he wouldn't mind doing a little wrestling with her any time soon ….**_

"_**My apologies …. Maybe you could demonstrate that another time too …." Her voice had dropped slightly and the smoky, sexy quality of it had sent a delicious shiver running down his spine ….**_

_**Oh yes ….**_

_**They were both definitely on the same wavelength ….**_

"_**Don't tempt me …." He had growled back.**_

"_**So, you were going to tell me what happens next …."**_

_All night long we've been dancing  
Dancin' to far away  
All night long I've been waiting for them,  
To play a slow one  
_

"_**This …." He had pulled her roughly against his hard, lean body, tightening his arm around her waist and she had let out a softly gasped "Oooh …." As her body had come into contact with his and her eyes had been wide, her expression startled as she had gazed up into his face.**_

_**"Now what …." She had enquired breathlessly, gazing deep into his blue eyes.**_

_**"Sway …."**_

"_**Sway ….?"**_

"_**Yeah …. Sway …. Like this …." He had demonstrated by moving very slightly from side to side, mostly from the hips, keeping his feet still.**_

"_**That's it? Sway?"**_

"_**That's it …. You can do that, can't you?"**_

_Why don't we try a slow dance  
Before it all comes to a close  
We'll see how it fells  
And see where the feelin' goes  
Oh why don't we try a slow dance  
And then who knows  
Then who knows  
Who knows  
Who knows_

_**And she had promptly demonstrated most effectively that she could indeed do that, her slender body moving gently in time to the music, her hips swaying very provocatively against his.**_

_**They had quickly settled into a nice, gentle rhythm, and it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world for her to rest her cheek against his chest, her slender, slightly shorter frame fitting just nicely against his lean body, her head dropping gently to rest on his shoulder, and he lifted his chin slightly to rest it lightly atop her head …. Pressing a soft kiss into the downy softness of her lemon scented hair. **_

_**Her arms had wound more tightly around his waist ….**_

_**And both had let out contented sighs ….**_

_**It had also seemed like the most natural thing in the world to both of them when he had cupped the back of her head with one hand and used the other hand to tilt her chin back slightly so that he could claim her lips with his own ….**_

_**A most delicious and sensual kiss that had seemed to last eternally …. And had left them both breathless and flushed and wanting more ….**_

"_**Some day soon …. you are really going to have to show me how to do this properly …." She had sighed softly against his lips as he had bent to claim them once more, and Stringfellow Hawke had known instinctively that she was talking about an entirely different kind of 'dancing' ….**_

"Take your time, son …." Dominic Santini advised now, surprised by the enigmatic smile he could see on the younger man's face now, and wondered _**where **_…. and _**when **_he was.

At last, when Santini was beginning to wonder if he had heard him, Hawke carefully produced the small urn of ashes from inside his flight suit where he had been keeping them safe.

"No need to rush …. There's still plenty of daylight left …."

"No …. It's time, Dom …." Hawke spoke in a voice made rough by emotion, face glistening from his tears.

And reached out to pop the door, as Santini took Airwolf down a little more, toward the water, but not so high that the backwash would drown the ashes when they fell onto the surface of the lake ….

Hawke watched the ripples on the lake caused by Airwolf's rotor's downdraft and then scanned the sky for the eagle ….

And spotted her circling lazily on a thermal current coming out onto the lake off the far shore ….

Yes ….

The time was right ….

As he took the urn and carefully loosened the top, the haunting strains of another song began in his helmet, this time the wonderfully sultry voice of Doris Day ….

_If I give my heart to you,  
Will you handle it with care,  
Will you always treat me tenderly,  
And in every way be fair,  
_

_**  
**__If I give my heart to you,  
Will you give me all your love,  
Will you swear that you'll be true to me,  
By the light that shines above,  
_

Hawke smiled again, a bitter sweet smile now, as he turned the urn gently and tipped it to allow the fine powdery contents to slip slowly out, firstly dancing upward in the reflected updraft from the rotors on the water, tossed high above him, and then, falling slowly, caught on a gentle downward breeze …. before finally settling on the rippled surface of the lake ….

"Goodbye my love …."

_And will you sigh with me, when I'm sad,  
Smile with me, when I'm glad,  
And always be as you are with me tonight,  
_

He spoke the words softly, although Dominic Santini could hear him, over the soft strains of Doris Day's singing, tears glistening in his own eyes as he watched the ashes dance around the helicopter and finally descend to the gently rippling water beneath them, and added his own silent thanks for the life that had touched his young friend's life with such love and tenderness and had brought him such happiness ….

If only briefly ….

Too briefly ….

And his own sorrowful goodbyes.

_**She was a helluva gal ….**_

_**And her taste in music wasn't bad either ….**_

Santini thought as fresh tears filled his eyes and he continued to listen to Doris Day through his helmet.

_Think it over and be sure,  
Please don't answer till you do,  
When you promise all those things to me,  
Then I'll give my heart to you,  
_

_**I promise, my darling ….**_ Hawke silently offered up to the heavens.

_And will you sigh with me when I'm sad,  
Smile with me when I'm glad,_

_And always be as you are with me tonight,  
_

As the words rang around his head, Stringfellow Hawke understood why Alex had chosen _**this**_ song in particular.

She was happy to give him her heart and her love ….

And all that she wanted in return was, that he do the same ….

With the same ardour and passion, and as unconditionally as she loved him ….

No matter what difficulties may arise.

No matter how long …. Or short …. Their time together ….

Just to love her as he would love any other woman ….

And give her as normal a life as he could ….

With hopes and dreams and aspirations ….

The future she craved ….

It tore at his heart that he had never had a chance to tell her that that was exactly what he wanted too ….

She had sent him away to think it over ….

And to be sure ….

Just like the song said, as it filled his head now ….

She had wanted him to know everything so that he could make an informed decision ….

The right decision for them both ….

She had not wanted to be a burden.

More importantly, she had not wanted him to treat her with kid gloves, protecting her from the life she so desperately wanted to live ….

But she had died before he had had a chance to tell her his decision ….

And to ask her the question he had been thinking about during all those long, cold, dark and painful days of captivity.

To share his life ….

To be his wife ….

However, he had had his answer when he had finally learned what had happened to Alex after their return from Russia ….

_**Yes ….**_

She wanted to be his wife every bit as much as he wanted it ….

_**And in death, she had her wish.**_

The urn he held now, the contents tumbling through the air to dance with the wind and water, was inscribed simply –

**Alexandra Hawke …. Beloved wife of Stringfellow.**

_Think it over and be sure,  
Please don't answer till you do,  
When you promise all those things to me,_

_Then I'll give my heart to you,_

_**I promise ….**_

They had not been through any kind of ceremony …. legal or religious ….

But ….

They had needed no ceremony.

They both knew how they felt ….

In his heart it was the truth.

She had died in his arms ….

_**His wife ….**_

And he had honoured her wishes as though she were his wife in life.

_**I love you, darling Alex …. I always will ….**_ He thought silently, noticing the slight change in the weight of the urn in his hand and that the stream of silvery powder had stopped falling to the water beneath.

She was finally gone.

And now another song was beginning ….

He recognised it immediately, another Doris Day number, and felt his heart constrict in his chest.

Alex's final promise to him.

_I'll never stop loving you,  
Whatever else I may do,  
My love for you,  
Will live 'til time itself is through,  
_  
_I'll never stop wanting you,  
And when forever is through,  
My heart will beat,  
The way it does each time we meet,_

_  
The night doesn't question the stars,  
That appear in the skies,  
So why should I question the stars,  
That appear in my eyes,_

_  
Of this I'm more than just sure,  
My love will last and endure,  
I'll never, no,  
I'll never stop loving you …._

As the haunting strains of an instrumental section of the song filled his helmet, Dominic Santini also became aware of another sound ….

A soft humming sound and he could not help but turn his head slightly once more, to look more closely at his companion ….

Who suddenly burst into song himself ….

_Of this I'm more than just sure ….  
_

He still couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, Santini thought to himself wryly, his voice rough and croaky with emotion, and painfully off key and out of tune ….

Face awash with tears, as he watched the eagle circle lazily high above the lake ….

But, there was no denying the sincerity and the passion in his rendition of the love song, and Santini found himself smiling softly to himself as he listened to Stringfellow Hawke sing ….

_My love will last and endure ….  
I'll never, _

_No,  
I'll never stop loving you …._


End file.
